#mention of loss of a parent

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 97: February 1996

Red banners hang from every building and street pole, cheerful gold characters shouting their message to the skies. Lanterns are strung across the streets, their tassels fluttering, with kites hanging in between. The smell of good food fills the air. Children are laughing, people are cheering, and it’s overall a wonderful time.

And Melanie is miserable. Or at the very least she wants to    be. She wants to scream at everyone to stop celebrating, to make the laughter turn to sobs, to turn the cheering into silence, to change the red to black or even white, to make all the flowers into chrysanthemums. It’s not fair that the celebration should still be going on.

Normally this is her favorite time of year. It means two whole weeks—sometimes three—that she gets to spend with Gunggung and Popo, and all her aunties and cousins, a big family reunion with lots of good food and laughter. It also means excitement and joy and fun. It means red envelopes full of money and firecrackers    and riddle lanterns, and it means spring is coming soon. She likes the music and the dancing, the games and the parades, and she likes getting an extra birthday, even if she does have to share it with everyone else—not just in her family, in the whole wide world.

This year, though, she wants it to stop.

It’s a big crowd, but that’s not why she feels lost; she’s alone, but she’s not lonely. Still, there’s a cold spot next to her no matter where she goes, and she keeps squeezing her hand reflexively, wishing for the soft but strong fingers that always hold hers when the dragon comes by. It’s not really a New Year festival without her mama.

She begged hard, so hard, for the doctors to let her mama out for the festival, at least for one day. The hospital is so far away from this part of town, she can’t even see it from her window—surely they can let her have one teeny little day that she can get out of bed? But the doctors said no, and her dad explained that her mama is very sick and being out of hospital might actually kill her, and her mama smiled and touched her hand and told her she would see the lanterns. That’s not for two whole weeks, though, and Melanie doesn’t want to wait that long.

This isn’t even home, not like they usually go home. Popo and Gunggung are here, and Jima Ellen and Uncle Ben, and everybody else is coming this weekend for Renri, but it’s not Sheffield, it’s London. Her dad says she needs to be in school for right now, and since her mama can’t leave her bed, it’s obviously better not to go away without her, because Melanie won’t do that. But it’s not the same and she probably wouldn’t like it even if they were up north.

Jima Ellen is taking a turn visiting her mama now—grown-ups can stay after hours—but she brought Melanie here first; it’s a community, after all, so Melanie will be perfectly safe, she declares. Gunggung was just opening the Mahjong set when they left, and Melanie knows Jima Ellen wants her out of the flat before Gunggung starts using the words he’s not supposed to use around the cousins and demanding to know how he’s being beaten so badly by a pair of sai yan, which he does every time they play because her dad and Uncle Ben are very, very good at Mahjong because it isn’t that different from Rummy. Melanie is learning, too, and she’s hoping her mama will be well enough that they can play with her dad and maybe Jima Ellen tomorrow after school, but for now she’ll let the grown-ups play. So instead she wanders along the streets and looks at the festivities.

She’s trying. She cleaned the house all by herself yesterday, or tried to until Popo picked up the broom to help her, and she said all the right things. She wrapped all her pennies in red paper and tucked them under her mama’s pillow yesterday morning to ensure health and good luck. She even let Popo do her hair, which hangs almost to her butt, and wore the new red hanfu Jiji Ellen made for her to school even though she tries not to be too Chinese when she’s there (she’s only half, and she has her dad’s eyes instead of her mama’s so she doesn’t really look it, but the people who bully Sze bully her too and she’s not supposed to get in fights at school anymore). She wanted to stop and show it to her mama, but school starts before visiting hours and her dad said she was sleeping when Melanie tried to visit after, so she’ll have to wear it later. Maybe she’ll wear it when she and her mama go to see the lanterns.

There aren’t a lot of people wearing traditional dress, although everybody is wearing their very best clothes. She sees Sze with his family, all of them smiling and happy; he waves to her and she waves back, but then he laughs at something his mama says and she has to hurry away so she doesn’t get angry. It’s not his fault his mama is here and hers isn’t, but it’s still unfair.

Nobody is telling her what’s wrong with her mama, why she’s so sick. She’s heard the word cancer a few times, but that can’t be it, because that’s a very bad thing and people die from cancer and her mama’s not going to die, she isn’t. Anyway, they can cut cancer out of people and that fixes it, but nobody’s even talked about cutting anything out of her mama, so she can’t have cancer or they’d be trying to fix it. Surely they would do everything they could to fix her. Surely they won’t just let her die.

It doesn’t occur to Melanie that there might be other kinds of cancer, kinds that aren’t easy to cut out—like in the blood—or that her mama might be too sick for it to work, because she doesn’t want to even think about the possibility that her mama could die. It also doesn’t occur to her that there are worse things than cancer.

She walks, and she gets more and more upset as she does. Everything is wrong. The people around her are talking the wrong kind of Chinese, the words just different enough to be difficult or impossible to understand, and there are people talking in English just a little too loud like they think the people around them can’t understand it even though most of them were probably born or at least raised right here in London. The streets don’t turn and bend the way they do in the Sheffield area, and the buildings look different under the banners. The fu characters are all upside down, too, and that’s wrong because it’s pouring all the good luck out and it’s going to make bad things happen. On an impulse, she stops and reaches up to try and turn one right side up, but she’s too short and she can’t reach.

She wants to cry. She wants to scream. She wants to blow up like a firecracker. She wants to be one of the drummers in the dances so she can hit something and not get in trouble for it. She wants to know who, what, is responsible for her mama being sick so she can fight it and make it stop and let her mama get well again. Why can’t it be something like the nian or the sui, something that touches people and hurts or make them sick, something she can actually go after for real?

As the thought crosses her mind, the drums and gongs start up, getting louder and louder. The lion dance must be starting, and Melanie definitely doesn’t want to miss that. She turns towards the sound of the drums, picks up the hem of her hanfu, and runs. At least, she starts out running; the crowd gets thicker and thicker, and soon she’s having to squirm and elbow her way through so she can get to the front. She has to be able to see.

She squeezes between two people and unexpectedly pops into an open space. She’s stood just in front of the crowd now, just off the curb, in front of a big open space, and sure enough, here come the dancers. They’re all banging their drums and clanging the gongs, clashing the cymbals and skipping around, and prancing towards them—

It’s not just one lion, Melanie thinks with a sudden thrill, and she wishes again her mama was there, both to see and so she could squeeze her hand very tight, because as much as Melanie loves these dances the lions are very big and can be very scary, and this is the first time she’s seen more than one at the same time. In the lead is Lau Pei, the eldest, the first emperor of the Shu-Han kingdom, striding masterfully and scanning the crowd; beside him, and a little behind, is Kwan Kung, the Duke with the Beautiful Beard, stretching lazily and shaking his head. The crowd murmurs in surprise and delight, and Melanie wonders if they’ve ever seen two lion before either.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion and a cry, and from the other direction come three musicians. One is banging very fast on his drum, not in rhythm; the second is clashing his cymbals; the third frantically clangs the gong. Melanie’s blood sings, and she wonders what’s going on, why they aren’t playing the song, why they’re—

The man with the cymbals is shouting, yelling for everyone to beware, be careful, to run, but nobody seems to be looking at him or listening. They’re all laughing and clapping for Lau Pei and Kwan Kung, and the musicians that came with them are still playing like everything is normal. They don’t even seem to notice the men running towards them. Lau Pei turns his head, though, and looks where the runners came from, so Melanie looks too, just in time to see a third lion appear on the scene.

At first she thinks—or maybe assumes—it’s the third brother, Cheung Fei, the Fighting Lion, but she quickly realizes that isn’t right. His face is black, but his body is white—white like a funeral—and his feet are stained like he’s run through paint…or maybe blood. More blood drips from his jaws, and they open and close, the great red eyes rolling as they look around. This isn’t a lion Melanie has ever seen before, ever, and she wonders where it comes from and why it’s here…and if the other dancers knew this one was coming.

The man with the gong trips and falls to the ground with an almighty crash. The new lion roars—actually roars—and sprints forward. It’s going to attack the man on the ground, and this is a really weird way of doing the dance…

This isn’t a dance, a voice says in the back of her mind, full of horror and fear. Melanie tenses all over as she realizes it’s true. This isn’t…right. It’s not any story she’s ever heard. It’s—

It’s real.

The man with the drum is suddenly in front of her, and he falls to his knees. For the first time, Melanie realizes he’s hurt, he’s bleeding—the blood on the new lion’s paws are this man’s, it’s torn his back all to pieces, and he can’t move anymore. Gasping and panting, shaking with the effort, the man holds up what he’s been using to beat the drum.

It’s not a stick. It’s a knife.

There’s a scream from the man with the gong, abruptly cut short, as the lion rips out his throat. Blood sprays everywhere, and still nobody seems to notice but Melanie…well, and Kwan Kung, who shakes his head and nudges his older brother. Lau Pei dips his head, stretching like a cat, then straightens and roars, too, and the new lion roars a challenge back.

The musicians play on, seemingly oblivious that the dance has changed, going over the same steps as always, but Lau Pei and Kwan Kung are ignoring it. Lau Pei stands calm and steady in front of the challenger, which is gearing up to attack, and it can’t do that, Lau Pei is the emperor, he can’t be defeated…

But Lau Pei isn’t the fighter, he’s the old and wise brother, the one with sense. Surely he can fight…but what if he can’t?

Lau Pei dips his front end again, either submitting or getting out of the way, Melanie isn’t sure. And then he speaks, which never happens, but which Melanie isn’t surprised by because of course he can. In a voice very like Gonggong’s but much, much older and more fragile, he cries, “Help me, Little Moth!”

Nobody knows that’s what she’s called. Nobody except her mama and her dad. Even Popo and Gunggung don’t know. Melanie is the only one of her cousins who didn’t get a Chinese name too because she’s the only one who doesn’t have a Chinese last name—only Jima Ellen married someone who wasn’t Chinese and they don’t have any kids—so her mama secretly gave her a name, Sai Ngo, Little Moth. Her dad calls her that in English sometimes, since he still can’t speak Cantonese very well. But they never do it where anyone else can hear, so if Lau Pei knows it—well, of course Lau Pei knows it, he’s the emperor, he knows everything.

But he’s asking her to help. And she knows what to do.

It’s bad luck to give knives on the first day of the new year. She takes the knife anyway, and the man falls dead at her feet.

The music is still playing, and even if the lions aren’t dancing, Melanie does. The music seems to become part of her, to travel into her feet, her spine, her whole body, as she dances forward and puts herself between Lau Pei and the new lion. The lion seems to laugh at her, shaking his head from side to side, and then leaps towards her, lunging for her throat. Melanie dances out of the way and slashes at the lion with her new knife. She misses, or at least she thinks she does, but the lion roars and she sees blood on its shoulder and she knows she got a little of it, anyway.

The sight of the blood, and the knowledge that she put it there, fills her with strength and confidence. And the sight of the lion still laughing at her, still thinking she’s as nothing, that she can’t stop him, fills her with anger. She can stop him, and she will.

“Nei dim chingfu a?” she shouts at the lion. What is your name?

The lion laughs scornfully at her, rearing up on his hind legs, and there’s supposed to be a performer, but there isn’t and that’s not right.

“Ngo hai Ngaam Sei Mong,” he sneers. His voice is like fingernails on a blackboard. Melanie shudders at the name he gives her: Ngaam Sei Mong, Cancer Death. It’s like he knows, and that just makes her angrier.

He comes at her again, teeth wide. Melanie dodges, moves with the music, and the great teeth of the lion snap where her head was a moment ago. It bites her hair, bites through her hair, and it falls in a jagged bob around her face, and she realizes that this lion cut her hair, the hair that is her mama’s pride and delight, the hair that Popo took such care of, the hair that she has never, ever cut in her whole life.

She screams, not in fear but in rage. How dare he? How dare he take a moment that should be happy and turn it into one of fear, how dare he attack a festival, but most importantly, how dare he take something of hers that she didn’t tell him he could have?

The drums and cymbals and gongs get louder and faster and more frantic, and Melanie takes it and uses it, dances with the music, whirls on her heel, ducks under the lion’s mouth, and, still screaming, buries the knife deep in its heart.

Blood and black ichor gush from its heart, and the lion roars and screams, throwing its head back, its whole body back. The movement is so sharp and severe that it wrenches the knife from Melanie’s hand, and she stumbles back, hair tickling her chin, breathing heavily. Her hands are stained, deep, deep red like the hanfu, but at least the blood doesn’t show on her dress, at least…

A hand grabs her and pulls her hard, and she stumbles and jerks her arm free and whirls around to find herself face to face with Sze, who looks wide-eyed and also worried. Nobody else seems to be looking at them. Everyone else is watching the lion dance, which…

…is still going on like nothing happened?

Melanie balls up her hands into fists and scowls at Sze. “What?” she demands.

Sze shakes his head, still looking worried. Loudly, he says, “You almost got stepped on.”

He tugs her arm again, and Melanie wants to hit him, but she follows him anyway to an alley a little way away.

“What?” she asks again, still angry but less loud.

“I saw,” Sze says in a half whisper. “I saw the lion, the bad lion, and I saw you stop it, and then it all went away. You saved us all. You’re the hero…but you took a knife. That’s bad luck.”

Melanie stares at him, then turns back towards the street. Everyone claps and cheers as Lau Pei and Kwan Kung dance between the musicians, the steps just the same as Melanie has always seen them, and they’re…costumes. They’re just costumes with performers inside. There’s no blood. No dead bodies. No third lion. Everything is normal. She could almost believe she imagined it.

But Sze saw it too.

Turning back to him, she tilts her chin up defiantly, and there’s more evidence that it was real. Her hair still hangs, rough-cut and free, between her chin and her shoulder.

If no one else believes us, she thinks, looking at her classmate, at least we know the truth.

Out loud, she says, “Dying is bad luck, too. At least we’re alive. And I won’t ever let something like that hurt anyone ever again.”

“Melanie!” Jima Ellen’s voice calls from somewhere in the crowd. “Melanie, it’s time to go!”

Melanie starts to leave, but Sze grabs her arm again before she can. She jerks it away harder this time. “What?”

“Be careful.” Sze’s voice is serious, and at the same time, he suddenly sounds much, much older than eight. “Remember, it wants to hurt you, too.”

Melanie stares at him. Sze only turns away and disappears back into the crowd, heading towards his parents and the lion dance. For a moment, Melanie considers following him, but then Jima Ellen calls her again and she turns to leave. There will be time to ask him about it the next time she sees him. For now, she just wants to go home.

She’s suddenly very, very tired.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #the magnus archives #melanie king #illness #mention of hospitalization #mention of loss of a parent #anger #violence #blood #child in peril

[cattatoir]

I think I have unpopular Sandman takes bc I'm usually on his side

#like I would also not promise not to take revenge like maybe you shouldn't do things...to make him take revenge and just accept the possible #consequences #but uh I also assume he wouldn't have done much to the kid #and I'm not on the pregnant lady's side #Like obviously as a human Empathy for your loss #But letting the universe start falling to pieces and acting like you're somehow OWED a child with your dead husband #not to mention owed your dead husband #is so incredibly selfish #not to mention compounding the issue by apparently trying so hard to avoid the consequences of your action that you #a) refuse to accept your kid is like never gonna be a human and it's entirely your fault #b) try and fuck with the fabric of the universe AGAIN #like the consequence of her kid being taken from her probably way earlier than he would have to become Dream #That's like Minimum punishment imo #Being a parent is I'm sure a horrifying and painful thing to deal with a lot as is losing your husbandf #but I'm not going so far to valorize someone's individual pain that they don't have any responsibility for their stupid fucking actions #sorry it hurts and sucks but uh the universe doesn't owe you SHit #and I'm only for robbing it if you're like #eating the rich or fighting god not fucking over everyone else who you don't care about because you're a jerk #cmo's log #he's totally wrong for not forgiving his ex tho. WACK get over yourself you big fucking baby #get wreckt

[heretherebedork]

I am maybe twenty minutes from saying goodbye to my mom because we went from working on PT to infection to pneumonia overnight and I rushed out at 6:30 am and I don't know what to think so I keep thinking about the shows I'm gonna watch today and I just wanna say how much I love everyone of you reading this and please don't make this my most popular post just go read all my La Pluie meta and love that part of my life.

Anyway.

Love people. Don't stop loving them. See them when you can and love them.

#parental death #death #francis irl #paternal loss #trigger warning death #death mention #real life death #serious post #but please focus on my less serious stuff

[smilepebble]

the biggest misconception i had about octopath lore when i first played ot1 was that every time anyone mentioned "the war" they were talking about a huge realm-wide war that started over 21 years ago not long before the destruction of grynd and ended 8 years ago with the fall of hornburg. that this all encompassing war was the cause of ophilia and therion being orphaned, was a major factor in the fall of house azelhart, was the main cause of the great pestilence that nearly killed alfyn as a kid, and was of course a very influential event in olberic's life. and when i started reading into extended canon and such it was extremely disappointing to find out this wasn't the case.

in my opinion it is so much more interesting to read octopath 1 as a story that takes place in "the aftermath". to see how people's lives were affected by the war and how they rebuild after such devastation.

#as for the 3 travelers i didnt mention... obviously the war affected cyrus' research immensely and caused the loss of a lot of information #for h'aanit i imagine that pre-war tensions led a lot of monsters to attack towns? #i actually dont remember if her parents dying from a monster attack that z'aanta was fending off was canon or if i just made that up #anyway. as for tressa i would say its the reason why her parents seemed to shelter her and opposed her going on an adventure at first? #op #ot1 #oh wait this is a meta post isnt it. welp #meta posts

[villainousshakespeare]

Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 27

“Loki/OFC Rated E: Trigger Warnings: Smut, Sex, Oral Sex, Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved, drinking, memory loss.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza  @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads  @alwida10  @justjoanne242 @chantsdemarins @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokiprompts @evieplease @unlucky-number-13 @bitchassbecky691 @georges-left-ear

Eir was an imposing looking woman. Easily over six feet tall and crowned with a cap of snow white hair over steel grey eyebrows, she looked more like a general than a healer and tended to run her medical team accordingly. Loki had always had a great deal of respect for her, but he also found himself unaccountably ill at ease in her presence.

They were seated in his mother's study having gathered to discuss, much to his irritation, Loki's condition. Eir was the last to arrive, entering with the air of one barely humoring her inferiors. This look was lessened slightly as she nodded deferentially to Frigga but returned in double intensity as her eyes swung to Loki and Caroline.

"Thank you, gracious Eir, for agreeing to meet with us at this late hour," Frigga said, indicating a high-backed chair similar to the one in which she sat.

"When the AllMother calls, it is our duty to answer," she replied, sitting bolt straight in the chair, back not touching the carved wood. "The young Prince looks to be healing nicely from his wounds. I sense no lasting cellular deterioration beyond the elasticity which he always has possessed."

Her words were clipped, spoken in a deep, resonant voice. It was all Loki could do to keep himself from slipping back into the posture of the boy saw him as, slouching down to draw less attention to himself. To say the healing goddess had intimidated Loki, Thor, and their friends would hardly be stretching the truth.

"Indeed, his injury seems to be well on the mend," Frigga smiled.

"Pardon me, dear ladies. Do you think you might consider talking to me? I am in the room after all,” Loki asked with a look of false courtesy plastered on his face. His self respect, after all, would not allow them to completely send him scurrying back to the school room.

"Loki, behave yourself," Frigga chastised him gently, causing his eyes to roll.

"You see, they treat me as a child," he complained to Caroline who gave him a small smile of commiseration.

"That is what you are, comparatively," Eir said, though no intended offense was detectible in her voice. "I had lived two lives before you were even born."

"I must be an infant then," Caroline said weakly.

It was a valiant attempt, and he admired her for finding her voice among such imposing women, but Eir was ancient even by Asgardian standards.

"Less than that," the healer turned her ice grey eyes on Caroline. "You are the blink of an eye, a wave on the shore. Here now, but soon gone with barely a trace to show you existed at all."

Sitting close to her on the sofa, Loki could not help but feel the wince that Caroline tried to hide from the room. Knowing what a slap that sentence would be, squeezed her hand in support. To Hel with Eir and her superior manner. Caroline deserved better.

"Dr. Thorpe has made more of an impact on me in the past month than all the population of the Citadel of Asgard did in my entire life," Loki defended Caroline, glaring at the woman who had saved his life.

"Has she? May I ask in what way? I am curious about the lasting effects of Midgardian exposure."

To left, Caroline smothered a laugh. Alarmed at first that something was wrong with her - a reaction to all of stress he had put her through would not be out of place - he belated realized with surprise that her humor was genuine. Something clicked inside Loki's brain. Caroline had looked at Eir, a Goddess who terrified most of Asgard, and realized the truth of her. The woman was not trying to be rude or offensive, not a bit. She simply looked at the world in through a scientific lens rather than an emotional one. Eir was legitimately intrigued by their connection. She would probably like to take Loki and Caroline's clasped hands and study them under a microscope.

"Well, young prince?" Eir prodded again. "What changes did the Midgardian girl make on you?"

"Well, that is just the problem," Loki sighed with a rueful smile. "I don't seem to remember."

"The spell we wove, clouding the disruptive memories," Frigga jumped in to explain. "It seems we obscured more than we intended."

"Ah. I see. The brain is a complicated piece of machinery, and we were pressed for time, if you recall. Had he woken up again and continued to fight his recovery, he may not have had enough energy left to heal."

"I do recall," Frigga's voice trembled a bit at the memory. "I am not reprimanding you, or myself, Eir."

"I should hope not. How much time has he lost?"

"A year or more," Loki answered for himself, the barest trace of annoyance in his tone, even though Eir looked at his mother. "I have no firm recollection of anything between Thor's would-be coronation and waking up in the infirmary."

"Well, a year is hardly so great a matter. It may come back eventually. Or not. It is difficult to say."

"It was a rather significant year," Frigga put a slight emphasis on her words that added to Loki's misgivings.

"Meeting a Midgardian woman hardly seems significant to me."

"And your opinion of it seems even less so to me," Loki snarled. Quirk of nature or not, he would not allow anyone to disrespect Caroline.

"Loki," Frigga admonished with a glance. "As much as I am sure Dr. Thorpe was important to my son, there were other things that transpired that may hold more wide scale significance."

Ah yes, the mysterious other things. Loki stole looks at his mother and the healer under lowered lids. What was it that had them all so on edge? He knew from what Thor and his idiot friends had let slip that he had committed some errors in judgement in regard to Midgard, but instinct told him that this was not the extent of his actions. Torture had been alluded to, as well as some sort of break down. The more he heard of his lost year, the more anxious it made him.

"Frigga, have you seen Thor? Ah, Eir, what brings you here this time of night?"

The door to the study slammed open and a man strode in. Considering he had entered without so much as a knock or a by your leave, there was only one person this could be. Not that Loki needed to know that to recognize his father.

Odin was huge, not just in stature, but in presence. Burly in a similar manner to Thor, if perhaps not in such dramatically fit shape, his presence made the room feel as though it had shrunk to half the size. His hair was mixture of white and grey, with a few dark strands showing the color it once had been. One eye hid behind a golden eyepatch, permanently affixed to his face, but the other shrewd orb seemed to hold a stormy sky tossing in its depths. A similar storm surrounded him, it always seemed to Loki. He radiated an energy that pulsed through the room, commanding all attention rest immediately on him.

"AllFather," Eir greeted Odin, nodding from where she sat. Even she sounded deferential when she spoke to Odin.

"My queen is not unwell, I trust?" Odin's eyes flicked from Eir to Frigga, concern clouding them.

"I am fine," Frigga brushed off his worry. "We are discussing Loki."

"Good evening, Father," Loki stood to acknowledge his sire, bringing Caroline to her feet with him as he was not about to drop her hand now.

"What has he done now?" Odin demanded. "You are awake, I see."

"I am. Your well wishes are much appreciated," Loki couldn't resist from adding in the last words.

"Loki has not done anything," Frigga told her irritable spouse.

"Well, there is a first time for everything," Odin said with a hard look at Loki.

"You are not being fair, father," he said with the merest hint of a smirk. "At least half of the time it was Thor's fault."

"SILENCE!" Odin shouted, causing Caroline to let out a squeak she would be relieved to know only he could hear. "Now, would someone tell me what I walked in on?"

"Loki has lost some of his memories," Frigga said, shooting Loki a look when he opened his own mouth. "It is a side effect from the spell Eir and I wove on him."

"The Princeling is missing approximately a year of time," Eir added.

"Considering how he spent that year, I would think that would be all to the better," Odin opined, making him even more uneasy about his deeds. "If he is truly innocent, or at least not culpable for his actions as you claim, then it is better to let the unpleasantness lie in the past and hope we all forget it."

"That is the worst thing you could possibly do!"

Loki heard the words ring out in Caroline's clear voice. If he could have jumped in front of her and stuffed them back in he would have. Odin's eye, dark with anger at being gainsaid, swung to pin her to the carpet like a bug in one of Eir's experiments.

"And who is this person who dares contradict me in my own palace?"

"A Midgardian woman the Prince has befriended," Eir was the first to answer in a voice that said she was impervious to the tension crackling in the room. "He claims she is important for some reason, though I have yet to discover how."

"Caroline is my consort," Loki said boldly, puffing out his chest and hoping he sounded confident.

"A Midgardian woman? Consort to a Prince of Asgard? Don't be absurd. Call one of the guards and have her escorted to a room in the servants' quarters at once. We can send her home on the morrow."

"If Caroline goes, I go," Loki was angry now, and used it find the confidence he had never had to stand up to his father head on. "I am in love with her."

"He is obviously more disturbed in the head than you led me to believe," Odin said to Frigga.

"Dr. Caroline is a brave woman who saved Loki's life. Thor told me all about it today when we went to retrieve her. Perhaps we should hear her out." Frigga defended her, surprising Loki himself with the revelation. How had Caroline managed to do that? What other secrets did this wonderful woman hold?

"Regardless, she knows nothing of these matters. Her opinion is irrelevant."

"On the contrary," Caroline countered, taking a step forward. "I know a great deal. Loki and I have spoken at length, before he lost his memories, about what he was put through. I would go as far as to say that at this moment I know more about the situation than anyone alive. What's more, I have made the study and aid of trauma victims my life's work."

Loki stared at Caroline with love and admiration as she locked eyes, or eye, with his domineering father. Few even among the other Gods would dare to stand up to the AllFather when he was in a temper, and here was a diminutive mortal doing just that. He was immensely proud of her.

"Your life's work," Odin mocked. "A child on Asgard would have studied longer."

"Yes, we have already been through the disparaging of my age," she said. "I admit that my life is short by comparison, but I believe in this one matter if nothing else my expertise should be respected."

"You talk of respect - "

"Father - "

"My love," Frigga cut through Odin's next growl and Loki's protestation. "I believe we should listen to her. Just hear her out. After all, what harm could it do? If she fails to convince us, we have lost nothing. On the other hand, if it could harm Loki or anyone else to keep his memories buried, better to find out how and deal with the problem."

Loki held his breath, waiting to see if Frigga's calm and common sense would carry the day over her husband's pride. Sometimes it did, but not always by a long shot.

"Very well," Odin agreed at last. "We will here this person out. But I warn you, my decision will be final."

"Of course," Frigga assuaged him.

Loki didn't say that regardless of what Odin decided he would stop at nothing to recover his memories, but he was fairly certain everyone in the room knew it to be true. He bit his tongue instead as his parents seated themselves in the highbacked chairs that were not quite thrones.

"Loki, you should wait outside."

Caroline spoke so softly to him that at first he thought he must have misheard her. Surely, she did not expect him to leave her to face his father's wrath without him? Did she thing him such a coward?

"I most certainly will not," he insisted.

"We need to discuss what you have been through," she said practically. "Part of my concern is about the way in which you find out what you are missing. For you to hear it baldly discussed would be particularly cruel."

"I can deal with whatever it is."

"You could, but you shouldn't have to. Please, Loki. You have been torn apart once already by this. There is no need to have it go that way again."

"Dr. Caroline is right, Loki," Frigga echoed.

"Why don't you come into the next room with me, Princeling. I will look into your brain and see if I can determine just where the edges of our spell lie, in case we want to attempt to alter it."

"I do not like this," Loki looked from one of them to the next, eyes landing last on Carolines.

"I promise she will be fine, Loki," his mother assured him. "I will look after her."

"I am not a damsel in need of rescuing, Loki. This is my job. Please, let me do it."

"I will be just next door," he said reluctantly.

"I am hardly going to harm the girl," Odin grumbled.

Ignoring his father, Loki searched Caroline's eyes one last time before sighing in defeat. She was right. If he had really shared his story with her, she was the best equipped to decide what to do. He just wished he could spare her the unpleasantness of a confrontation with his father. Leaning down, he gave her a long, lingering kiss. He had meant it as a show of loyalty for the others in the room, but the moment his lips met hers he forgot them.

"Come along boy, you have made your point," Eir interrupted.

"Call out if you need."

As Caroline nodded, eyes slightly glassy, Loki reluctantly allowed Eir to lead him from the room.

***

Caroline's father had warned her that someday her need to ease the emotional pain of others despite the circumstances would land her in hot water over her head. Well, it didn't get much hotter than where she was now.

The departure of Loki and Eir had left her alone in a room on an alien planet (that she wasn't even sure actually was a planet) with her lover's parents, beings of immense powers who had inspired the gods of ancient Earth societies. It was all a little daunting to say the least.

"Very well," Odin grumbled, pinning her to the spot with his one eye. "Let's get this over with. You will tell us everything that Loki said to you, leaving not out a word out."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I cannot do that," she replied automatically, taken aback by the brusque request.

"I do not understand," the God glared at her. "I thought that was the reason we were allowing you to remain."

"Perhaps you can explain what you mean, Dr. Caroline," Frigga suggested with an encouraging smile.

"Loki is - was my patient," she tried to keep her voice professional. "As such, some of the details of what we spoke about are confidential. Ethics will not permit me to share them with anyone."

"Your ethics are of no concern to me. We are dealing with the safety of whole realms."

"They may not concern you, your Majesty, but they are of great concern to me," Caroline shot back, before taking a deep breath. "I cannot tell you word for word what Loki said, but I can discuss matters in general."

"Go on," Frigga said, as her husband just glowered. "Though some of it I have pieced together. He was tortured?"

"He was. For months on end. I do not know, and I do not wish to know, all of the ways in which he was tormented, but I do know that included mental and emotional torture as well as the physical. Loki was broken down bit by bit by someone who knew exactly how turn someone's mind, a creature he referred to as The Other, in service of Thanos."

"The Mad Titan!" Odin seemed interested now. "He was involved in all of this?"

"He was," she nodded. "His children abducted Loki and he used The Other, with the help of one of the Infinity Stones, to bend Loki to his will."

"The Mind Stone," Frigga said. "Thor told us it was in the scepter Loki used in his invasion."

"The invasion was guided by Thanos through the Mind Stone," Caroline went on. "I believe Loki was fighting against it as much as he could."

"I did wonder how one I trained could be so clumsy," Odin said grudgingly. "The Mind Stone is a powerful tool."

"I have had some small experience with it. Nothing compared to what Loki endured, I was only possessed for a matter of minutes, but it was the worst thing I have ever experienced."

"You were possessed by the stone and survived with your mind intact?" Odin sounded marginally impressed.

"Only thanks to Loki. He had prepared me for what might happen, and when I could not prevent it he sacrificed himself for me. That is how he came to be injured."

She couldn't quite bring herself to confess to Loki's disapproving father that he had sacrificed himself by jumping in front of a gun and allowing her to shoot him. He already had reasons enough to dislike her.

"If what you say is true, then perhaps Loki is not to be blamed for the battle on Midgard. While I am disappointed that he would be careless enough as to fall prey to the Mad Titan, once subjected to the Mind Stone even Thor might have difficulty resisting its urges."

Caroline almost bit a hole in her tongue at that. Thor was physically strong, but compared to Loki his mind was that of a child. He would have been easy pickings for the jewel.

"I did not think the details we heard of the invasion sounded like our son," Frigga agreed with Odin, tactfully ignoring the second part of his statement.

"I still do not see the current difficulty," Odin said. "You claim to care about Loki; why would you wish him to have to remember the pain and torment you say he endured?"

"If it was only the torture and invasion he had forgotten, I might agree with you," Caroline struggled not to take offence. "But we all know there was more. The memory loss goes back further, to the day of Thor's coronation."

"What of it?" Odin crossed his arms across his chest, in a gesture Caroline had seen Loki mirror many times before.

"Loki has forgotten he is Jotun," Caroline said baldly, deciding the best way was to rip off the band aid.

"He told you, did he?" Odin's words were laced with contempt.

"He did. But even had he not, it was in his SHIELD folder that I was given at the start of our sessions. Thor apparently informed his fellow Avengers when they were attempting to form a defense plan against him."

"Damnation!" Odin growled, banging his fist on the arm of the chair.

"The secret is out, your Majesty. Earth knows. From what I have gathered, many people on Asgard know. The lie of him being your son is no more."

"He is my son!" Odin shouted, face turning red.

"Then perhaps you should have treated him as such!" Caroline snapped back.

He was an innocent, and brilliant, and longing for love and you treated him like a possession. You never thought to look at the potential locked within and find a way to help it to bloom. You took him into your home and your family, you should not have done that if you were not willing to open your heart to him as well. The words screamed in her head unspoken, but she was sure her face said them all.

"How dare you!"

"Odin, please!" Frigga placed her hand on his arm. "Caroline, despite what you may believe, we raised Loki as our child."

"But he was not born your child," she replied, getting a handle on her emotions, "and he found this out in the worst way possible. There was no one for him to talk to about it. Thor was gone, his father was incapacitated, and you were tending to him. Loki's entire world was broken, and he had to deal with it all alone."

"I admit, the timing was not ideal," his mother said in an extreme understatement.

"That knowledge is still there, somewhere in his psyche. He may not be consciously aware of it, but on some level Loki knows. On some level, he probably has always known. It was difficult, but I was finally beginning to convince him that this truth did not make him a monster, condemned to be alone and hated."

"Thank you," Frigga said simply.

"It was my pleasure. I would have done as much for anyone, but Loki is special."

"He is."

"If we keep this knowledge from him, particularly when everyone else is beginning to know, I worry what will happen this time when he finds out. All of the work we have done to get him over the worst of his self-hatred will have been for nothing. The last time he learned of his true origins, he descended into an identity crisis that led to an attempt on his own life followed by the lives of millions. Don't put him and those around him in that danger again."

#Loki #Loki fanfic #Loki/ofc #therapy #Odin #Frigga #romance #mention of torture #odin's a+ parenting #angst #memory loss #previous smut #future smut (I promise) #healing #Loki needs a hug

[sonknuxadow]

also looks like they are taking aosth off of netflix soon and its already not showing up in the sonic collection anymore .. sad ! well theres other sonic shows

#aosth (and the older american sonic shows in general) is pretty easy to find for free anyway though . #both through piracy and actually legal official means. so not a huge loss at all #also gonna be honest ive never been super into aosth anyway. #like it gets points for being super obvious about sonic and tails being brothers and having a lot of cute moments because of that #(tails' new home is probably one of my favorite episodes in any sonic show) #and i dont hate the show or anything . sometimes i put it on when i dont know what else to watch #but also its definitely one of my least favorite sonic shows and ive never been able to finish it SORRYYYYY #Btw if i ever mention having/using a particular streaming service its not because im paying for it #im just leeching off my parents subscriptions Peace and love

[ridaine]

Such Terrible Things...

A question with no answer.

#TW parent death #so yeah my dad died yesterday and I have a lot of weird feelings about it #tw death #tw death mention #grief/mourning #coping with grief #grief art #vent art #trauma art #comic #grief comic #coping art #parental loss tw

[sunnydayzes]

The silence that came over the room after she spoke about her mother was deafening. It was almost as if Lyla had stolen the woman's breath away and she didn't know what to say in response. But, even mentioning what had happened aloud had created a tightening in her chest as the sadness started bubbling up to the surface again. She hated thinking about what had happened, and giving it a voice just made it even more real.

"Do you have a job? Can you pay rent?", the woman asked calmly, her features had softened since her confession, but she still seemed to be all business. Lyla couldn't really blame her. People had to make a living one way or another and her tragedy didn't stop the world from spinning - even though she had felt like it did.

"I....don't." She said, watching the woman's face quickly change. "But I will start looking. I'm sure I can find something. People need help all over this town.", Lyla said, reasonably, somehow finding a way to muster up a little bit of confidence.

There was another long stretch of silence, and then the woman let out a heavy sigh, and resumed her typing on her computer once more.

"Rent is 450 a month. It's due at the first of the month. You have a five day grace period, but anything after that is considered late. If you miss two payments in a row, you will be evicted. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am.", Lyla said, trying to stop the tears that were brimming in the corners of her eyes. She felt such a wave of relief wash over her. She had found herself a home; and it hadn't taken that long at all. It felt like a blessing - like her momma was somehow still watching over her like she had her whole life.

"The first month I will wave the rent plus the usual moving in fees.", the woman said, as Lyla heard the sound of a printer going off in the background. "I know what it's like to be without a family."

"Thank you.", Lyla said, a small tear dripping down her face.

"Don't thank me yet, girl. You better find yourself a job. Are you still in school?", she asked as she pulled a piece of paper out of the printer and sat it down on the desk in front of her "Read over this and sign it."

"I just started my senior year.", Lyla replied as she looked over the document that was handed to her. It was a lease agreement. It seemed like pretty standard stuff, and Lyla didn't really see anything that concerned her. She hastily signed the document, handing it back to the woman, anxious to get her hands on the keys to her new home.

"Stay in school.", the woman said gruffly as she grabbed the piece of paper back and moved over to the copier. "Trust me. If you ever want to make something out of yourself, school should be your priority."

"Yes, ma'am." Lyla replied, remembering that she had promised her mother the exact same thing. She had dreams for herself - she wanted to open up her own little bakery and sell her treats to the world. She may not have needed an education for that dream, but she knew that it wouldn't have hurt anything.

"You can stop calling me, ma'am. My name is Barbara, but you can call me Barb.", she said, and Lyla saw the woman smile for the first time since she had entered the office as she turned back to Lyla and handed her a copy of the lease she had just signed. "Congratulations. You have a home."

Lyla stared down at that piece of paper as though it was going to disappear. She couldn't believe it was that easy. She knew that it probably should have been. Maybe the woman was taking pity on her, or maybe she just saw a way to make a quick buck. Either way, Lyla didn't have to worry about sleeping on the street that night, or any night after, and that was all that she cared about.

"I'm Lyla.", she said as she held out her hand. The woman didn't shake it, as she expected. Instead, she dropped a small key into the palm of her hand.

"You ready to see your place?", she asked, and Lyla nodded her head enthusiastically. "Follow me."

#story: phases #phases: chapter one #ts4 story #sims 4 story #c: lyla frye #sim: barbara short #portsim #millhaven #long post #tw: death mention #tw: loss of parent #i have a very dear friend of mine in my life #her name is also barbara and she is an older woman #she used to come into the restruant i used to work at every day and sit at the bar #and she is one of the wisest people i have ever met and we still talk #when i saw this character in this save file #it was like it was meant to be that she would be a part of Lyla's story #poor girl has been through so much #and it's only getting started

[hurricanek8art]

So a lot of people have seen my Star Wars posts the last couple of weeks. I only have a handful of followers and I'm still pretty new to all of this, and it's been fun and kinda mind blowing. I would love to talk about Star Wars or other nerdy stuff more than anything right now, but... I have something I have to get off my chest.

My dog Lucy died this afternoon.

It was sudden, like this developed at some point in the three months since she was at the vet last, and there was nothing we could do. I can't bring myself to really talk about it. I don't think I ever will be able to. It's too much. Because Lucy was my everything.

I'm not posting this because I'm looking for sympathy or prayer. I mean I'll take it if you're comfortable giving it, but that's all really complicated stuff, y'know? Not everybody has a great relationship with grief or religion—heck I don't always have an easy relationship with either of them sometimes, but I'm working on it. I'm not digging for commiseration or "poor sweet baby"s or anything. I just... don't have many people to talk to in my life. And this is gonna be really hard for me going forward. Not that anyone needs me to tell them that, everyone who's been where I am knows this. I'm not ready to grieve. I've grieved half my life, really, for different reasons, different people. It's... complicated. I'm complicated. So I'm going to do what I learned how to do to cope with my grief as a child. I'm going to tell you a story.

It's a story about love and unexpected journeys. Of finding who you are through someone else. Of a girl and her dog, who found each other and were who the other needed in just the right moment. I want to tell you a story because if even one person reads this, just reads it, doesn't even reblog or like or anything, the story is carried on. And the story lives forever. And in a way, Lucy lives forever. Because she already does in my heart, and she always will. So I'm going to tell the world our story not because I'm looking for followers or likes or sympathy or whatever. I'm telling it because I want at least one person to know even a fraction of how much I love her. If you don't or can't read this because it's too much, too close, too anything, I understand more than anyone that it can be overwhelming or painful. But if you do read this rambly ode that I wrote last night in sort of a haze... I thank you, for carrying the story on.

I met Lucy when I was thirteen. My family had been looking into training a service dog for me for a few months. We thought that it would help with my autism, alongside the PTSD I was dealing with in the aftermath of my father's death a little less than a year before. Because we already had one wonderful lab mix, the local training organizations had turned our applications down, citing that it would be too complicated to integrate the dogs. A friend of our family who did occupational therapy through animals suggested we find a dog and train it ourselves, with her help and help from people she knew, so off to the local shelters we went. This trip was our third try, and it was the same shelter we found our lab in—third try's the charm, right? And it was.

My mom wanted me to look at the puppies down a different row of kennels. Easier to train when they're younger, and she has a fondness for labs. But I walked down the righthand row, waving and smiling and wincing at the noise as excited dogs barked, wanting to see why new people were there, and I saw her. She was in the middle of the row of kennels. She never barked, but her big brown eyes were bright. I knelt down to say hello because she was the only one not barking in my face, and she leaned against the chain link to get closer for me to scratch, still looking at me with those beautiful eyes. I didn't realize it in that moment, but that was the moment she moved straight into my heart. I wanted to at least visit with her in the introduction room. Yes, the puppies were cute, but I had a feeling this time, y'know?

When they brought her into the room, I was sitting on the floor. She about dragged the shelter volunteers across the room, making a beeline for me. Sniffing all over. No licking—she's never been a licker. That's alright. We played a little, my mom and brother watching kinda surprised because this dog didn't want to look anywhere but me. She sniffed curiously around the room a few times, sure, but otherwise, she was right there. Stayed right there. And then she did this.

I was a goner. Because I found my dog.

___

They told us they thought she was a dalmatian mix, estimated to be about one and a half, which was amazing because we did the math later and realized she was likely born around my birthday in December. Asked me what I wanted to name her. I was on a Narnia hyperfixation at that point. Lucy, because she was so sweet and curious. Later the name evolved into an homage to Lucille Ball, because she was wacky and goofy and fun. I don't care where the name came from. She was Lucy and she was my dog. We had to introduce her to our other dog the next day, at the dog park. It went fantastic. All she wanted to do was romp and play, and our other dog went from acting her age of 8 and sorta arthritic to a happy two year old again. Surprisingly, the shelter worker handed us the leash and said "she's yours for the weekend, we'll talk on Monday". Trial run I guess. I was fine. I was ready.

It was Friday, April 13th, 2012. My brother likes to make jokes that the date should've been a clue that she'd be a handful, but I don't care. A Friday the 13th was one of the best days of my life. Even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

(I swear she and our lab got along, that one is just one of the few pictures I have of them together at the moment 🤣 I have so many pictures, but I can't go through them yet. These are just the ones I feel comfortable sharing right now.)

___

She was not a dalmatian mix. We figured that out that night when we put her up in my room to sleep. I was too buzzed with excitement, so I was in the living room when I heard it. This bay from my room. Not a bark, a full on hound bay. I remember looking at my mother in shock, and she just shook her head, eyes wide. "That is not a dalmatian."

It turned out there was an foxhound breeding/hunting place a few miles out in the boonies from us. They don't actually fox hunt, it's more of a horse-riding club where you go out riding with a whole flipping herd of foxhounds, English and American, to exercise the dogs. The shelter had found her about a month before running around in the woods, no collar, no chip, nothing. We don't know if that really is where she was lost from, or how long she was a stray. No one from there came looking for her if she was theirs. She had some scars on her face, thin scratches you could only really see when you squished the loose skin on her face. I loved squishing her face so much. Lucy had pretty clearly never been raised around non-working dogs. Or humans. Or anything, really. The world of the suburbs was new and confusing to her, but she knew how to chase, and run, and scent-track. Never had a problem with wild animals trying to get into our yard again at that house. Lucy was here to protect her new people.

(I should be clear that there was nothing in this tree. No squirrels or anything. I think this photo really captures some of her essence, though 🤣)

Service dog training went out of the window pretty quickly. My mother, who'd had dogs for decades, had never adopted a dog as old as her before, and Lucy was a lot. Hyperactive, intense prey drive, stubborn and hardheaded and loud, oh my gosh she was so loud. And settling into a new routine after losing her husband while trying to raise two autistic kids, while we all dealt with PTSD, was a lot. She got overwhelmed and kinda shut down after a while. My brother didn't know how to train dogs either, so he shut down, too. I don't blame them at all, we were all grieving and they came back around eventually, but I was thirteen years old with a dog I had no idea how to train, and I felt alone. I was grieving and scared, and for a while I was terrified that it wasn't going to work out. Every time our family adopts an animal, we swear right then—that animal is a part of our family, no matter what. But it was so much, and we were dealing with so much.

But then Lucy would look at me with those big brown eyes. And I'd feel okay. Because she was my dog. And I was her person. And I wasn't going to give up. So I squared my shoulders, I went over everything I knew from what my mother had taught me over the years, and I trained my dog.

(this was from 2016, and it's the day I knew she and my brother actually did get along, despite all the headaches and banged-up knees from her not dodging around him quite in time that she caused)

Things have never been easy. But we got through it. We moved out of my childhood home, a little over a year after returning from everything that happened with my father. (It was a saga I really don't know how to share) My PTSD and trauma stuff got worse, and my now-regular panic attacks really got started, and I dropped out of therapy like an idiot, but through it all she was there, always, always. When it felt like no one else was. When it felt like I was drowning. I never got suicidal thoughts until the pandemic hit, and have never been anywhere near wanting to even think about following through on them, but even when I was in really dark places, no matter what, Lucy was there, listening to me with her big floppy peanut butter colored ears and her big brown eyes and her freckly-looking spots. Lucy saved me from fully spiraling into a grief-filled, depressed fog I wouldn't be able to find a way out of more times than I can count. As far as I'm concerned, she saved my life. She was never cuddly—I think she tolerated my attempts at affection more than anything sometimes, but that was okay. I'm pretty touch-averse when it comes to humans and hugs and stuff. Dogs, no, humans, yes. I understood, and I knew when she'd had enough and when to step away, and I did my best to respect that. She was fine with being independant, with just being near me. And I realized I was fine with it too. Because she was there. And I was there for her.

(She heard me open a snack container in the first pic; behind that bush was one of her favorite spots in the summer even though it drove me crazy when I couldn't find her 🤣)

Over the past few years, it felt like we'd really settled into where we were supposed to be. She never slowed down with age. She just... matured, I think? Especially after our lab mixed died in 2016 and it was just her and us humans. Realized she didn't have to constantly chase the next smell, be on the lookout for the next squirrel or bird or rabbit. When I took her out for our hours of hanging out on the back porch in the sunshine, as soon as the weather would turn warm, she went from constantly running around the yard to taking breaks to hang around my chair. Laying near me, sometimes even next to me. A few times she laid her head on my feet, or next to them, or against my legs when I was sitting on the ground. I almost cried every time because it made me happy she was so comfortable with that. (Scratch that, I did cry) My favorite was when we were out there in the evenings, and she'd fall asleep as it got dark, deep enough to snore. She felt safe enough to do that, comfortable enough, content enough to let herself fall that deep asleep, because she knew we were there to protect her, be there for her. Because I was there. And if you've never heard a hound howl in their sleep because they were dreaming about chasing things, you've missed out, it's possibly one of the funniest sounds you'll ever hear, and I got to hear it on a nightly basis. I heard it last night. Even when it kept me awake sometimes as her snores rattled the windows, I have treasured that weird yodel-y sound as it fluttered through her flappy lips.

Those summer days will be in my heart forever. And when the weather would turn cold, and my seasonal depression would get bad, I felt better because she'd let herself become a couch potato with time, and realized "Hey, I can sleep on Kate's bed when she's not on it! Score!" She was content, at last, after years of us working so hard to find a balance. That's what I've held onto all this time, what I'll hold onto in the coming months, years, decades. That she's content, and happy, and she knows that she is loved more than anything in this world.

I've grown and changed with her. It's been eleven and a half years, we had to have. I've lost family and gained family. Drifted apart from friends like an idiot when I should've held on. Sometimes I don't know if the person I've become is who I want to be, or need to be, but when I'm with her, it's fine. Because I was who she needed. I became an adult. I found new interests and hobbies; I found writing, I re-found art, I found music and making friendship bracelets and a little bit of sewing recently, though I'm bad at it. I found historical subjects, mythologies and folklore, stories I never knew existed, that fascinate me. I found Lord of the Rings and Captain Marvel and Paramore and Taylor Swift with her. I still don't always know who I am, but I found myself. And every bit of that, Lucy was next to me, watching me as I discovered it, listening to me sing to her and ramble on about whatever I was doing on the days we sat out on the porch or in my room, just us, and I needed someone to talk to. She was always a good listener.

I'm still struggling with my mental health, everyone in my family is. And I know the next few months are going to be hard. But every bit of my life with her, I've been happy, even when it got hard. Because Lucy was my dog, and I was her human, and we were Kate and Lucy. My only regret is how long it took us to find our balance, find out how to coexist when we were so different but the same at the start. I will always regret how long it took, even if I was a confused child for half of it, but I never gave up. I couldn't. Because she never gave up on me, even when I had no idea what I was doing. Anything else—the grief, the frustration, the fear—I regret none of it. I never will.

Because through it all, I had Lucy. And Lucy had me. And now, if you've read all this, as I rambled my way through our story, trying not to cry and laughing at some of the memories, maybe you know her a little bit too. Everything on the internet is forever, right? Well, now our story is forever. Lucy is forever.

And she will be in my heart forever, too. I love you, Lucy. My Goose, my Goober, my Goofus, my Lucy-Goosey Mongoose, my "no, no, stop that, please stop eating stuff you find in the yard!". I love your squishy face and your droopy lips and your floppy ears. I love your loud barks and your window-rattling snores and your incredibly weird sleeping positions. I love your big brown eyes and your goofy grin and your misunderstanding of the word 'gimme five' regularly leading to you enthusiastically smacking me in the face with your big ol' paws. I love how I had to show you how to chew apple slices with your back teeth because you'd never had one before, and how you'd mooch for a carrot that was supposed to go to the horses only to spit it out three seconds later and then immediately try mooching for another. I loved teaching you to boop me with your nose when it was clear you weren't comfortable with kisses as a way to show affection, despite the numerous times you almost broke my nose. I love you. I love you. I love you. You have been part of me since April 12, 2012. You always will be part of me. One of the best parts.

And now you're forever.

#tw: grief #tw: depression #tw: suicidal thoughts mention #tw: parent death #tw: pet death #tw: pet loss #tw: long post #i don't know what to tag this #im honestly swerving back and forth between “ill be okay” and completely numb and just falling apart at the seams #im gonna be okay i just need time I think #whoever reads this thank you #i just... needed to let this out #dogs

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 58: April 2004

Gerard puts the finishing touch on his work and steps back, brush in hand, to study it critically. It’s the most ambitious piece he’s ever attempted, and he’s been working on it so long his hands are cramping up, but he thinks he’s got it. He’s just got to get someone in to view it who hasn’t been staring at it for…how long has he been staring at it? His stereo, a joint gift from Martin and Melanie last Christmas, plays five CDs and will automatically cycle through them until he tells it to stop, so the fact that the music is still playing is no help, nor is it the fact that it’s only the second album in the rotation. The fact that nobody’s come pounding on his door demanding he shut off that godawful noise before I strangle you with the wires might be, but he isn’t sure.

As the thought crosses his mind, his door opens, and he whirls around. Paint flies off the end of his brush and very nearly misses Martin, who squeaks and ducks back behind the door.

“Shit, sorry! Forgot I was holding it.” Gerard drops the brush into the water jar, then turns the volume on his stereo down. “It’s safe. Come in and tell me what you think.”

Martin comes back in carefully, followed—to Gerard’s slight surprise—by Melanie, who has her coat folded over her arms. Both of them look like they’re up to something. They also look rather damp. Martin’s gaze locks with the canvas on the wall opposite the door, and he flinches back, obviously startled.

“Bad, huh?” Gerard asks, his heart sinking a little.

“Wh—? No, no, it’s great, it’s…wow.” Martin blinks hard and sidles in so Melanie can come in and close the door. “That’s so…realistic. It’s…it’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done this any smaller.” Gerard gestures vaguely at it.

Melanie drifts closer and peers at it. “Oh, cool. Martin, come look at it up close, it’s not as terrifying…did you use a compass or a ruler for this? Or, what do you call it, that Spirograph thing?”

Martin moves towards the canvas as Gerard shakes his head. “Nah. Freehanded it.”

“This is some utterly precise bullshit, this is. Look at that! And that’s—” Melanie’s finger hovers over a point on one side of the canvas, but doesn’t touch. “Is this Chinese?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t really mean anything, but I found this book that tells you how to transcribe different sounds into Chinese.” Gerard steps up beside her and indicates the characters as he sounds out the syllables. “Me, lan, ni…and then over here is mah, tan. It’s, uh, it’s kind of the closest I could get.”

Melanie socks him lightly on the arm, but she’s grinning. Martin’s eyes trace the lines and curves of the patterns, seemingly hypnotized. “It’s…brilliant, Ger. How long did this take you?”

Gerard snorts. “Dunno. What day is it?”

“Sunday. It’s just gone midnight.”

“Which Sunday?” Gerard doesn’t actually think he’s been in here for a week, but he’s hoping to make them both smile.

Melanie smirks and whips her coat off her arm with a dramatic gesture. “It’s the eighteenth, Gerry.”

Gerard blinks. She’s holding a parcel wrapped in bright paper—its neat, sharp corners speak to Martin’s precision, but the monstrosity of ribbon on top is one hundred percent Melanie—and, tearing his eyes away from the painting, Martin reaches under his jacket and produces a card.

“Shit,” he says, not sure what else to say. “That’s today?”

“It is,” Martin confirms. “Happy birthday.”

Gerard laughs and hugs them both. Before he takes the present and card, though, he pauses. “Wait. You said it’s just gone midnight. What are you doing here this early?”

“Spending time with you,” Melanie says pointedly. “We thought we were going to have to wake you up, but here you are.”

“Okay, but—is there a reason you didn’t wait until later?”

Martin shrugs. “School starts tomorrow. We can’t stay out late with you, so we thought we’d come get you early instead.”

“You two are nuts.” Gerard sits down on his bed and waves for the other two to join him. “Did Mum say anything when you came in?”

Melanie shakes her head, hitching herself up to sit on the edge of his dresser. “She’s down in the shop still, I think.”

Gerard stops with his finger halfway across the flap of the envelope. “How’d you get in without going through the shop?”

Martin produces a roll of half-rusted metal tools. “I bought these at a swap meet a couple months back. I’ve been practicing with them, so I figured I could jimmy a window if I needed to. But the one in the kitchen wasn’t even locked.”

“Did you two climb the walls?”

“What, like it’s hard? There’s what’s left of the fire escape that got us most of the way up. It’s fine. It’s not even raining that hard.” Melanie rolls her hand impatiently. “Go on, open it!”

Gerard figures that at this point, it’s a bit late to scold them for taking risks, and it’s not even like it’s the worst thing they’ve ever done. Instead, he finishes opening the card and reads it. It’s a sturdy, brightly colored card with metallic accents and pop-up components and glitter all over the place, and when Gerard opens it, it begins playing a cheery but shrill rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”. It also spills a great deal of confetti that looks suspiciously like the leavings of a hole-punch onto his lap, and subsequently his bed. He decides not to complain about that, but he does shut the card quickly, laughing.

“We tried to find one in black,” Martin says. “But all the black birthday cards were for turning forty, so…”

“So I suggested we go as far as possible in the other direction,” Melanie says brightly. “You can thank Martin for talking me out of the pink one with the princess crown on it.”

Gerard tries very hard not to look as though he’s going to throw up. “Thank you.” He sets the card aside and reaches for the wrapped gift. It’s surprisingly heavy, and he wonders how the hell they got it up the wall. “Gee…I wonder what this could be.”

Melanie shrugs. “Well, keep in mind that unlike somebody in this room, we’re not legal adults yet.”

Gerard stills as that realization sinks in. “Shit. I am eighteen now, aren’t I?”

“Depends on what time you were born, but yeah, Ger, you’re officially grown up,” Martin reminds him.

Gerard grins. “We’re so going to Venice next year.” He pries the tape loose and unwraps his birthday present.

It’s a box, perhaps a foot long and half as wide, made of some kind of wood, not particularly dark but not terribly light either. Except for the very edges, which are smooth and rounded, the whole thing is covered with an intricate pattern of vines and flowers. The hinges are cunningly hidden, barely visible unless you look closely. Gerard runs his fingers over the carving and looks up at Martin in astonishment, then at Melanie. “Did you…make this?”

“Oh, God, no,” Martin says with a slightly incredulous laugh. “Found it at the farmer’s market a couple years ago. Someone had a booth with all kinds of baskets and boxes and things like that.”

Which means there’s something inside it. It’s pretty, and Gerard loves it, but he also knows Martin and Melanie well by now and knows how much time and thought they put into their gifts (it’s made him up his game somewhat as well); if this box isn’t handmade, they’d have given it to him ages ago if it was meant to be his whole present. So he turns the box around, slides his thumbnails into the crack, lifts. And stares.

The box is full, almost to the brim, with colored pencils. Not just any colored pencils either, but the expensive, professional grade ones he’s been talking himself out of buying for months now, always reminding himself that he has his oils and acrylics, that colored pencils aren’t really suited for the large-scale artwork his mother encourages. It’s colored pencils that have always held his heart, though, and while Melanie and Martin certainly know he likes them—he still remembers the awe on their faces the first time he took the cheap set Martin had for school and drew a hasty portrait of the two of them sitting on his bed while he perched on his desk, kind of like Melanie is doing right now—he can’t imagine they knew he wanted these.

“How…?” he whispers, picking one up and studying it. Jesus, there must be every color of the rainbow in here. He’s always considered buying the smallest possible tin, but this looks like the full set.

“There, um, there are definitely a couple of duplicates in there,” Melanie says. She’s obviously striving for nonchalant, but there’s a little spark of anxiety in her eyes. “We couldn’t always remember what colors we’d already got and which ones we hadn’t. Martin finally made a list, but by then we’d already been getting them for a while.”

Relief floods Gerard. He knows how expensive these are, and he knows that the jobs Martin and Melanie pick up after school don’t pay much and they turn more than half of what they earn over to Uncle Roger and Aunt Lily for household expenses; they have precious little to spend on themselves, so it would have taken them ages to save up enough for the full set, or worse. On the other hand, he can’t help but ask curiously, “How long?”

Martin and Melanie exchange glances. “Two years?” Melanie guesses.

“Three,” Martin says. “We started after we got back from Poland. You remember, we watched the sun come up over the mountains and you said you wish you had the pencils to capture it with you?”

Melanie nods emphatically. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I was taking that figure drawing course that term, so I asked my teacher and he recommended these.”

“Are they all right?” Martin asks, and unlike Melanie he’s not trying to hide that spark of anxiety. “Really all right? It’s, it’s not the presentation tin, a-and I know you’re really good with oils, but—”

Gerard closes the lid of the box. He gets up, ignoring the shower of paper that falls from his lap. He lunges forward, and he hugs Martin hard, then Melanie.

“They’re perfect,” he says, and he’s not ashamed to admit that there are tears in his eyes.

He manages to convince them they won’t lose out on spending all the time they can together if they rest for a while, and all three of them end up dozing off in a pile on his bed. They’re still up well before dawn, though, and they’re able to sneak out of the house before Gerard’s mother can spot them. The streets aren’t exactly deserted, but they’re quiet, and they don’t encounter many people between Pinhole Books and their destination.

Said destination is a particular spot on a particular bridge overlooking the Thames. It’s more or less at the halfway point between where the Blackwood-Kings live and the bookstore, so when they’re all meeting up, it usually involves them gathering here. It’s also perfectly situated for the three of them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder…well, more or less…and lean on the rail to wait for the sunrise. Probably in vain, if Gerard’s being honest. It’s raining to beat the band, and it’s not likely to clear up enough that they can see much. Still, Martin’s got a huge blue umbrella, and with all three of them pressed together they can all fit. Mostly.

As she always does, or always has since the disastrous Halloween party six years ago, Melanie wedges herself between Martin and Gerard, which means she’s stuck holding the umbrella high above her head. She’s caught up to her age in height, but she’s still a few inches shorter than Gerard. Martin, of course, outstrips them both; none of them are done growing yet, but he’s going to be tall when all is said and done. Gerard figures he’ll be lucky to hit six feet. His mother is barely five feet tall, if that, and…well, Gerard can’t remember his father too well. Of course he remembers a giant of a man, but he’s remembering it through the eyes of a very small child, so who knows.

“How tall was your dad, Martin?” The question pops out of Gerard’s mouth before he thinks about it, and he immediately wishes he could take it back. It’s been eight years since they met—to the day, actually—and the only time Martin has ever brought his dad up is at the wedding. It’s obviously still a sore spot.

To his mild surprise, though, Martin doesn’t seem upset, merely pensive. “I don’t really remember him too well, honestly. I think he was taller than Mum. He was probably big, because I remember my hand getting lost in his when I was holding it, but that’s all I know.”

“What did he do?” Melanie asks curiously. “Mum never talks about him.”

“Something to do with boats, I think. I remember being on the shore of the North Sea with Granddad once, he put me up on his shoulders and asked if I could see Papa’s boat from there. I must’ve been…three, maybe? Three or four? He took me for a week to Norfolk for something to do with the Jubilee.” Martin stares vacantly across the Thames. “Huh. I’d forgotten all about that.”

They fall silent, content to just stay in one another’s company. The rain doesn’t really stop, but there’s enough of a break in the clouds to the east that they can all see the first edge of the great disc of the sun peeking over the horizon, then slowly rising higher and higher until it bathes the clouds, the rain-spattered river, and their faces in a golden and rosy glow, at least for a few moments.

It’s not quite as pretty as a sunset, Gerard decides, but it’s pretty enough. He pulls out his camera and snaps a picture. Maybe he’ll try to recreate it with his new colored pencils.

Once the clouds close ranks around the sun again, they head back to Melanie and Martin’s house for breakfast. Uncle Roger greets them with a warm smile and a hug for all three. He seems surprised to learn it’s Gerard’s birthday, but once he finds out, he insists on making his extra-special birthday waffles. Melanie jumps up to assist him, and it has to be admitted they taste delicious. Even Aunt Lily, who comes in looking tired, doesn’t have any complaints about them. Gerard entertains her while Martin and Melanie clean up the kitchen, and they make their escape into the streets of London once more.

“It might be a bit wet for a picnic today,” Martin says, a little uncertainly.

“Pish-posh,” Melanie says, elbowing him. “There’s that shelter on the Broad Walk, it’ll be fine. And nobody’s going to be in the park today. We’ll have it to ourselves. Come on, Ger, what do you want to do in the meantime?”

Gerard thinks for a second. “Have either of you ever been to the London Zoo?”

It transpires that Melanie has, although not since her mum died; Martin, for as long as he’s lived in London, never has. Neither has Gerard, despite living there all his life. The three of them pay their ticket fees—Gerard tries very hard to pay for his ticket, especially since neither Martin nor Melanie will be sixteen for a few months yet and are therefore still getting the cheaper rate, but they won’t let him—and head inside. There are surprisingly more people about than Gerard would have expected, huddled under umbrellas, bundled into mackintoshes, and stomping through puddles, but it’s still easy enough to move around. The reptile house is the most crowded part, presumably because it’s indoors, and they give it a wide berth. Gerard gets some good pictures of the other two. He particularly hopes the one of Martin delightedly greeting, or being greeted by, a cow in the Children’s Zoo comes out well, although he also likes the shot of Melanie staring down a lion. He’s only aware that Melanie has taken a picture of him when he stands up from letting a small child who seems to consist mostly of big eyes peeking out from between a rain slicker and a sou’wester put their finger through the gauge in his earlobe when she hands him back the camera with a smirk, but he doesn’t mind too much.

They stop to purchase sandwiches and lemonades from a shop that seems surprised to have any visitors whatsoever, then head into Regent’s Park proper. As Melanie said, this part is pretty much deserted, save for the serious strollers and joggers, and there aren’t too many of them this late on a Sunday. The three of them make their way along the Broad Walk until they find the shelter—a small, octagonal structure with a couple wrought-iron benches in it. They eschew the benches, electing instead to spread their cloth on the concrete floor and have a true picnic of it.

“We could have skipped, you know,” Gerard says as he unwraps his sandwich. “I wouldn’t have been too terribly upset.”

Martin shrugs. “Yeah, but yours is the only birthday we’re going to get to celebrate proper this year, if all goes well, so…”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink again. Melanie is the one who speaks up, though, once she swallows. “We’re planning for college in the fall, Ger.”

Gerard frowns. “Doesn’t your school have—doesn’t it go all the way to the top?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have the programs we want. My guidance counselor gave me a few schools to look into that’ll get me into the uni programs I want, and it turns out one of them is the one Mum went to, so I’ve got a pretty good chance at getting in. And Martin…” Melanie nudged him. “Go on, you tell him.”

The blush on Martin’s face grows darker. “Um, you remember that woman I told you about, the one who was at the Christmas concert and said she knew Granddad? She was telling me about the music program at Edinburgh College, and she suggested I apply. So I did, and…well, I didn’t expect much, but I got a letter the other day with a couple dates for auditions to choose from, so I’m going to be going up for that in May. Still no guarantee I’ll get in, but—”

“Of course you will,” Gerard says, delighted. “The woman was probably a recruiter for the program, her recommendation will go a long way.”

“It might’ve got me an audition, but I still have to be good enough to actually get a spot. But thank you.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “A-anyway, the term starts in August, so we’ll be gone by my birthday and won’t be back until after Melanie’s.”

Gerard takes a quick breath as the implications of what they’re saying hit him. “So you’re managing it. You’re getting out of London.”

“For now, anyway. We hope.”

For now nothing. Gerard knows them both. If there’s nothing tying them to London, they might come back to visit, but not to live. And if the only thing tying them to London is Gerard…

Then and there, he makes a resolution. Once they’re settled, once he’s sure they’re good to go, he’s going to leave. He’s going to make the break once and for all, leave his mother and this world behind. He’ll make a new life for himself somewhere else, somewhere Mary Keay and her ilk will never find him, and then when Martin and Melanie go on holiday they can come stay with him. All of them can be free, can stop spending their lives chasing after Leitners and Fears and things that go bump in the night.

That’s for later, though. For now he turns to Melanie and asks, “What are you going to study?”

They chat and eat and toast one another, and then Melanie produces a square of pound cake; Martin pulls a candle out from his jacket and sticks it in the cake, and Gerard offers his lighter so they can sing him “Happy Birthday”. As they finish, Gerard closes his eyes and wishes harder than he ever has in his life.

Once the cake is gone—he insists on sharing with them every year and he doesn’t know why they still protest every time—they roll up the cloth tight and stow it in the deepest pocket Gerard has, then Martin puts up the umbrella once more and they head out into the rain. If anything, it’s raining harder now, and Gerard is already mentally betting against whether they’ll find anyone to help with the next part. Still, though, they make their way across Regent’s Park to Primrose Hill and make their way up to the top. Melanie arranges Martin and Gerard in their usual positions, fussing at them about the umbrella.

Just as Gerard is about to suggest they figure out a way to manipulate a photograph after taking it, a small family walking a pair of well-matched dogs comes up the hill, and Melanie accosts them. “Excuse me, would you be willing to take our picture for us?”

The man hands the dog’s leash over to the plump elderly lady and takes the camera. Gerard reaches over and takes Martin’s arm, forming a stable bridge for Melanie to sit on. Before they can bend down to give her better access, she runs at them and leaps, landing bang on target but knocking the umbrella free of their hands.

Gerard finds he doesn’t care. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs as Melanie’s arm loops around his neck. Martin and Melanie are laughing, too, and as they lean in for the dog-walker to take the shot, Gerard thinks this might be the best birthday he’s had in his life.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #housebreaking mention #mention of loss of a parent #birthdays #implied/referenced emotional abuse #scopophobia

[simplysimmingaway]

if she loved you so much, why isn't she here then? choosing to kill herself rather than take care of her daughter? she was a druggie who only cared about herself, and you're going to turn out the same way! there's no hope for you, Thisbe! might as well join your mother now, because you'll head down that road soon enough!

#tw: suicide mention #tw: death #parent loss #sims 4 #ts4 #mckee story

[citricacidprince]

One of my favorite tropes in any sort of media is the immense grief that fills a character after the death of someone they love, specifically a parent grieving the loss of a child (blood related or not)

The agony that flows through them as they long to hold their child one last time, the feeling that they should've done more as if it's all somehow their fault, seeing shadows of their child in everything around them and how every reminder stings worse than a bullet, the ever present thought of 'It should've been me' since no parent should ever outlive their child

It's such a bitter and heart wrenching thing that I feel like is not focused on often in media

Like yeah, your comfort fix-it fics are great, where the kid lives and everything is hunky dory, but give me more fics exploring the grief that is left behind after losing someone you love so suddenly, please I wanna feel like my heart is getting crushed-

#welcome to my 6am ramblings these happen often #this was particallu inspired because i desperately want more content of the Hollow Knight characters grieving the loss of Ghost #specifically Nailmaster Mato since thats our dad; and i just want more content in general of thd Nailmaster boys reuniting but alas #also im a sucker for parents grieving; idk man something about hits really hard i cant explain it #prince rambles in this chilies tonight #tw grief #tw grieving #tw death mention #tw child death

[villainousshakespeare]

Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 29

Loki/OFC Rated E: Trigger Warnings: Smut, Sex, Oral Sex, Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved, drinking, memory loss.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza  @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads  @alwida10  @justjoanne242 @chantsdemarins @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokiprompts @evieplease @unlucky-number-13 @bitchassbecky691 @georges-left-ear @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration

"Just lie back on the table and try not to fight."

The words sounded so easy when spoken in Eir's emotionless voice. In actuality, it was excruciatingly hard for Loki to do. His mind, the one thing he relied on more than any other, was about to be invaded. Every instinct within him screamed for him to resist. Instead, he took a deep breath and lowered his mental shields.

"You are doing wonderfully, my son," Frigga praised, her cool hands making spirals on his forehead.

Was it a weakness that her praise had a calming effect on him? Loki had always craved her approval. Over the centuries he had learned the hard way that Odin was never going grant much if any of his, but his mother was different. She would give voice to pride in her younger son along with her elder. He held those memories close, knowing that even if she did not always take his side, at least she saw something worthwhile in him. Before he had met Caroline, that had been a novel occurrence.

Caroline. He had dreamt of her last night. Enticing visions of her lying beside him, their bodies sliding against each other as she let out breathy sighs of desire that formed his name. Loki knew that he had experienced such exquisite moments with her in reality. If this procedure helped him to recall them, it would be worth it.

Gradually his mind began to grow hazy, and he found himself unable to follow a thought through. Giving up on trying, he summoned one image to use as his touchstone. Caroline's eyes, deep and understanding, filled with a warm light of love that against all understanding seemed to be for him.

***

Caroline had desperately wanted to be in the room as Eir and Frigga worked to restore Loki's lost memories. Not only was she afraid of what might happen as he lay on the table, but she knew that Loki himself wanted her to stay. While he would never admit it, but his eyes had implored her, a small flicker of fear that she knew he would show to no one else had flashed as he glanced wordlessly at her.

"Absolutely not," Eir had decreed. "It will be a hard enough needle to thread without the distraction of your emotional energy clouding up the ether."

Caroline had opened her mouth to argue, but Frigga had taken her hand.

"You have brought him this far, my dear," Loki's mother had said. "Trust me to get him the rest of the way home to you."

"It is alright, min kjaereste," Loki assured her. "I will not let anything keep me from you."

And so she was waiting, helpless to do anything but fret, in a nearby room with the other members of his dysfunctional family. Thor paced the length of the space, tossing his hammer continuously as if longing for an enemy to fight for distraction. Odin, disapproval radiating off of him in waves, glowered out of a window, fists clenched into balls on the sill. It was not an atmosphere to make the worry she was feeling any less, and for a moment Caroline contemplated screaming just to break the tension.

"This is a mistake," Odin muttered, sparing her the need by giving her a cause to champion.

"I disagree."

She had tried, really she had. She knew that antagonizing Odin, the supreme ruler of Asgard and AllFather of the Nine Realms was not the wisest or safest thing to do. She also knew that it was not at all professional. But Loki and his family drama had long since moved to a personal matter for her. This man, or God, or whatever he considered himself to be had done unspeakable emotional damage to the one she loved, and now he had the audacity to act like they were imposing on him simply because his son wanted a piece of his life back.

"You have made your opinion abundantly clear, Doctor Thorpe," Odin glared at her with his one eye.

"I understand your feelings, Father," Thor chimed in, halting his pacing to look at his father with worshipful eyes.

"You do?" Caroline asked, wondering how Thor could love Loki and agree with his father.

"Of course. As you have said, Loki was bound to find out about his heritage again ere long. This time, we would be on hand to help him through it. I am no longer banished, and Father has recovered from the Odin Sleep. When Loki was told the truth, we could show him our support and love. That way he would never have to fear that we would turn on him simply for being himself."

It was a beautiful sentiment, and Caroline felt herself warming to Thor for having said it. Despite his lifetime of conditioning in this muscle-bound realm to worship brute strength and scorned difference, it was clear that at heart he loved his brother. She only wished that she could believe Odin's motives were as pure as his eldest son believed them to be.

"Is that the reason?" she asked Odin, daring him to answer.

"I need not explain myself to you," he snapped at her.

"To me, perhaps not. But don't you owe your son the truth? The son that is actually your own that is, since it is clear that you don't believe you owe it to Loki."

"Loki is my son," Odin shot back, banging his scepter on the stone floor hard enough to leave a dent.

"You have strange ways of showing it."

"What do you know of it? Were you a witness to his raising? No, your pathetic little life had not even become a spark of an idea."

"I know that you don't appreciate or encourage him. I know that you withhold affection and treat him like an embarrassment rather than a child you love."

"I do love Loki," Odin snarled. "It would be easier if I did not."

"Father, you don't mean that."

"You have no idea what it has been like," Odin seethed, ignoring Thor. "All that time, waiting for his true nature to emerge. Wondering just when the first bestial signs would begin to break through cultivation of his civilized side that Frigga and I tried to instill in him. Have you ever met a Frost Giant, Doctor? Besides Loki I mean."

"No," she was forced to admit.

"They are towering monsters, creatures from nightmares complete with fangs, claws, and red glowing eyes. Their very touch burns the skin with how cold it is. Duplicity runs icy through their veins where hot blood should flow. Perhaps if you had experienced them for yourself, you would not be so quick to wish your lover to become one."

"He is one," she corrected. "At least in part."

"And I could never forget that, nor should you. You find him handsome, I suppose. He has always known how to present himself so as to be nonthreatening. Even as an infant, he sensed that my people would not accept him blue and ruby-eyed. As I held him, his appearance altered, changing to a rosy faced babe, perfectly formed in every way. But I know what lurks under the skin. He is the son of the enemy of our people."

"But Loki himself is not our enemy," Thor was quick to add.

"Not yet," Odin said grimly. "But we do not know how long that will last. You say I should have encouraged him more. In what way? Should I have reveled that he was growing strong in magic, knowing that any spell he mastered could be used against Asgard? Should I have cheered when he used that magic to win at battles, when I was all too aware that it was his Jotun blood prompting him to value guile rather than skill? For centuries I held a ticking bomb to my bosom, and you want to know why I didn't rejoice to see it become more lethal? Why I might have resented it even more for the place he had in my heart?"

"I wonder if you have a heart at all," she said quietly.

"Why did you do it then?" it was Thor, asking the question at the heart of it all. "Why did you take him as a baby?"

"I told you he was a beautiful child. Sweet, playful. Your mother had wanted another, for you to have a brother or sister, but the Norns had not seen fit to give us one. I knew beyond a doubt that she would love him, and there was that in Loki that spoke to my heart as well. I thought perhaps this was their way of making amends."

"Was that the only reason?" Caroline challenged, thinking of Loki's theory that Odin intended him for the throne of Jotunheim.

"There was a chance that he could have helped build a bridge between the Jotuns and our people," Odin admitted after a moment where he pinned her with his gaze. "Laufey could not live forever. There is a rival clan that has always wanted to take the throne for themselves. I had hoped that in time a match could be made between a princess of that clan, Angrboda, and Loki. That if he was raised to hold Asgardian principles and traditions, he might bring the frozen realm into the modern world as an ally. A King of Jotunheim equal parts Aesir and Jotun, kin to the King of Asgard, might have guaranteed peace."

"We were both born to be kings," Thor said quietly, clearly quoting his father.

"Unfortunately, Loki refused to conform to the ways of Asgard," Odin went on, ignoring his son. "Despite all of our efforts, he still insisted on going his own way. He kept secrets, played tricks, and trusted no one but himself. For all I knew, he might have used the Jotunheim as a base from which to attack Asgard and seize control of the Nine Realms. I realized I could not risk raising him to power."

"How could he have ever learned to trust when he was shown none?" Caroline asked, feeling sad for her love. "So, when you were unable to turn him into a good little soldier for Asgard, you abandoned your plans and all of your use for him."

"We raised him as our own! We cared for him, sheltered him, taught him. I am not a monster, girl. I do not want Loki to fail, I just am not surprised when he does. I wish I could have said what he needed to hear on the bridge. I grieved when he fell into the abyss. It pains me to know that he was tortured. But I know what he is, and the safety of my realm must come before all else, even my child."

"You never gave him a chance," Caroline felt tired and worn down by the stubborn refusal in Odin to see the flaws in his logic.

"I saw the truth for what it was," Odin insisted. "Loki is Jotun, despite our love and good intentions. But how does it help him to know this? Look at the last year of his life - it has been one disaster after another, all beginning when he discovered the secret. Why make him continue that painful trajectory? Do you think a handful of years with you is adequate compensation for forcing him into an eternal life of despair and agony?"

"He will find out anyway," she insisted.

"You don't know that! For centuries we kept it hidden. The Jotun were banned from Asgard, and it was treason for any our people to visit their world without my explicit consent. I saw to it that he had no interaction with them, no reason to put together the pieces."

"That was why you were so angry," Thor gasped, stepping towards his father. "Why you banished me."

"You brought your brother to the Jotunheim!" Odin's anger thrummed through his voice. "I had made it clear that it was the one law you must not break, and you defied me! Laufey had poisoned enough people I cared for, and you let him drip his venom into your brother."

"So, I set all of this in motion," Thor sounded anguished.

"No, your father did," Caroline argued. The last thing they needed was for Thor to spiral into self-recrimination. "He's the one who took Loki. And from what he has told me, Loki was in communications with the Ice Giants even before that when he let them into Asgard during the coronation. So you see, all of your careful planning was for nothing. Loki still found out, and he would again even if we did not reset his mind."

"Odin, Son of Bor!" The door slammed open and Frigga, looking every inch the warrior goddess of myth stormed into the room. "We need to have a conversation. Now."

***

The image of Caroline's eyes held in Loki's mind, deep and compassionate. Slowly, his focus narrowed, white disappearing, followed by the ever shifting color of her iris, until all that remained was a sea of black.

He was lost in it. Only that black, empty and timeless, remained. It was a void. Nothingness and everything all at once.

"You are not lost, Loki," he heard a soft voice speak into the darkness. "You found your way out once, all alone. You can do so now as well. Follow my voice. I will not let you go."

It was true, he did know the way out. He was reluctant to take it though. He knew that way lay pain beyond enduring.

"There is also love," the voice whispered. "Let the hope of that pull you through. We will do our best to shield you from the worst of the pain."

He considered ignoring the voice, just settling for the oblivion of nothingness, but his nature would not allow it in the end. He was too inquisitive, too restless to rest idle for eternity. He focused on the invisible voice, let himself move towards where he thought it called from.

A series of events flashed in his consciousness. It was not love, this series of couplings and other indulgences, but for a time it seemed to numb a bit of the hurt, of the isolation he had experienced in the void. All too soon though, that dread feeling of isolation returned, worse each time he walked away from an unsatisfactory encounter.

"Oh my son," the sadness in the words echoed the sadness inside of him.

The scenes shifted, he was no longer seeking pleasure. Instead, a miasma of fear and pain surrounded him. It burned and froze all at once. He could not endure it. The terror struck at his mind, his soul, leaving no part of him unscathed as it sought to drive him mad and break him to his core.

"You are safe, Loki. I will not let them hurt you again. Forget this. Forget the pain, the anguish. Remember the events, but let the memory be distant, as if from a dream you have awakened to find is not real."

Desperately he followed the loving voice, climbing out of the depths of anger, self-hatred, fear, and agony. He was flying over it all now. Observing it from a great distance, as though watching a play from the top row of a massive theater. An actor dressed in his clothing emerged, beaten and compromised, golden scepter clutched in his hand. As the performer danced through Midgard, battling with his brother and assorted mortals, Loki could catch glimpses of himself, struggling to break the strings of the one making him dance. It was almost entertaining, seeing himself find ways around his would be master.

It was less entertaining when he felt himself crash, with bone jarring immediacy onto a solid marble floor. Over and over again, a large hulking beast flung him about, no reverence given for his Godly form. Pain jolted through him, real and all too present.

"I am sorry, my dear. From here you will feel it all. The good and the bad."

It was bad for some time. The humiliation of losing, a crushing blow despite the fact that he would not have wanted to win. The taunts and threats of lowly humans trying to make him as small as they were. The knowledge that he had been used, had his will subverted by another, even with the use of the Mind Stone, cut him to the quick.

"You resisted more than most could have," he heard. "You survived and kept a part of your mind your own."

It was meant to be comforting he knew, but he held himself to higher standards. The him that he was now agreed, sitting in a jail and longing for death. He saw that now. He had been eager to leave the world of the living and end the misery that was his existence.

"Just a few moments more, Loki."

A bright light. Not in the normal sense, not seen. Felt. A wave of sunlight in an unlit room. A voice, musical and clear as a bell. A touch that gentled rather than cut. Water for a sere soul.

He tried to taunt her, to drive her away. He tried to bring her closer at the same time.

She smiled, and her eyes smiled into his. She listened, listened to all of the things he said and even more to the things he omitted. The soft wings of her aura wrapped around him and held him close, balm for the scabs that still covered unhealed wounds. She freed him, from his jailors and from his own mind.

Snow, fire, laughter, sustenance, beauty. Beauty of sound, of sight, of taste. Acceptance of every part of him. He worshiped her and discovered that it could be even more fulfilling than being worshipped.

He did not want to share her light, her laughter, but grudgingly accepted that he could not be the total sum of her world. Cautiously, he opened the door to others. His brother, loved despite fear. His enemy, more alike than he would have ever guessed.

She thought he could be a hero. He knew she was wrong, he was not the stuff of saviors, but for her he was willing to try. Her bravery inspired even as it terrified him.

The terror was justified. She was gone, drowning in the same horror that had left him a shattered remnant of himself. He could not, would not allow it. Her light was too important to be extinguished.

He dove.

"Oh, my brave son. What a source of pride you are to me. Now I fear, we have to go back. Hold on and follow me."

He didn't want to leave her, but the pain was too profound to stay. He was whirling back now. Past the snowy woods where she spoke of Giants and beauty. Past the doomed invasion where he sabotaged his own success, past the terror and torture of the cage, blessedly out of full sight, and past the void when he had been born.

He was in a different snow now, much colder and harsher without her warmth. A hand that should have burned away his flesh grabbed his arm and turned it blue. Panic welled inside him a fear long suppressed rising up to the surface.

His brother, the one constant in his life, was ripped away before his eyes. His fault perhaps, but not his intention. He had meant to delay, not to separate.

A box glowing the same blue as his arm had turned. As his body turned when he grasped it. His father, but not his father, confronting him. Words shouted in anger, in horror. How could it be? Why was it his fate?

"Remember the beauty," the voice in his head directed. "Remember what she showed you. The music, the art, the love."

Slowly he began to calm down. Images continued to swirl, shameful scenes of deceiving is brother, concealing his true goals. He had been so afraid. Afraid of what he was, of what he might become, of who they might see him as. He saw himself as a monster, but was that all he was? He had been shown a light, a love, beauty and peace. Could that be a part of his heritage as well? Were such things allowed?

He barely watched the rest, so caught was he in this thought. His make up was more than just that of a monster. He didn't understand.

He was spiraling back once more, through centuries of life. Many disappointments, hard won victories, some joys sprinkled in.

"Eir, what are you doing? This is not among the lost."

"Trust me, AllMother," a new voice, hard and distant, spoke.

He could barely form a thought. His world consisted of eating, sleeping, and the pale, green eyed woman who looked down on him, dark hair falling around her face.

"My darling son," she whispered in a voice he recognized though he had never heard in his waking life. "My little Loki. I wish I could stay with you, but my time among the living is at an end. Carry my love with you where ever your path takes you."

"Volla!"

The voice that had been guiding him was suddenly stripped of the soothing calm. In its place was a new emotion, raw and pained. Loki wanted to question it, but he was so tired, and all he could do was let sleep, blessed and cursed all at once, wash over him.

* Volla, also referred to as Folla, was a sister and handmaiden to Frigga in Norse mythology and known as the Goddess of Secrets.

So, this chapter took forever to write. I am still not quite sure how I feel about it, but it mostly does what I hoped for, I think? Let me know your thoughts!

#Loki #Loki/OFC #Loki fan fic #Loki fanfic #therapy #mention torture #Suicidal Thoughts #love #redemption #Odin #Thor #frigga #Eir #Loki needs a hug #Loki history #memory loss #family drama #odin's a+ parenting #Justice for Loki #Odin gets an earful #Not sure what this chapter even is #Argh! #Norse Gods

[lahooozaherr]

Life Update + Where I’m at with updating fic

Welp. I’ve been through a lot this past week, to say the least.

Last Tuesday my husband and I traveled down to FL to meet up with my family for our vacation. Part of it was spent at the Disney parks. Which was super fun!

Although, things happened that I’ll elaborate under the cut and leave a CW in the tags. (Also face reveal)

Unfortunately, on Thursday, we had found out our sweet Odie (one of my cats) had passed away. We are heartbroken and were very much devastated at the time. He was battling an infection the past month. We left him in the care of my sister in law, who discovered him that morning. Odie had FIV, which makes a cat’s immune system very fragile. His little body did not survive the infection. We were rest assured by our vet that we had done everything we could have and were supposed to. It was very hard coming home to one less fur baby yesterday. We’re very grateful that my sister and mother in law were here to help care for and preserve him. Part of me feels like he chose to wait for us until we were with my family so they’d be with me. Either way, it hurts. We miss him so much. But we’re happy he passed peacefully at home in his favorite bed with our other cat, Jeej, watching over nearby.

I was happy I got to spend time with my family though. We had tons of fun! I’ve had an interesting situation dealt to me in life. Both of my parents are passed, as well as my maternal grandmother that raised me, who I was very close with. When I was 16 I was taken in by my paternal aunt. She has her husband and three boys, who I call my brothers. I’ve never gotten to go on a family vacation so this was a real treat for me. Experiencing Disney with them was everything I could want and more. My husband and I were like kids on Christmas, especially at Galaxy’s Edge.

I sadly didn’t get to meet Din 🥲 it rained that day and they had to put him away. My husband tried to keep an eye out on the app but it didn’t happen. But it’s ok! I’m sure there will be other opportunities in the future. I had fun regardless. And plenty of merch.

I loved being with my family and all of the fun things we did. It was a very good trip and I’m grateful.

As far as fics go, I’m going to get onto editing my Joel fic and I’ll have that first chapter (or two?) out soon. Life has been a lot and I’d hoped to start my next chapter of IWAFY but my brain has denied me. I hope after some time settling back at home and into my routine I’ll be able to get those creative juices flowing.

In the meantime I’m excited to sit down and read everything I’ve saved. I’ll be around!

#cw for pet loss #cw for mention of parent loss

[disorganised-ocd]

It absolutely boggles my mind how fast some people expect you to move on from LOSING A FUCKING PARENT

#grief #losing a parent #loss #mental health recovery #ptsd #actually ptsd #trauma #tw death #tw parental loss #tw trauma mention

[yoohyeontual]

I’m crying because Puppy is not doing well and giving him attention make it worst but all he wants is to comfort ME… we don’t deserve dog

#but everytime he comes to cuddle me I just burst out laughing he look so worried but I’m crying cause of him #he keep choking and it scares me to death I can’t lose him #I’m already on the verge Idk what I would do if I lose him right now #i love him so much it’s horrible #having pets is the best thing in the world but god when it come to sickness and loss is it worth it #I’m all alone too my parents are working and bestie is far from me #i have no one to hug me right now it’s so hard trying to stay calm #life is cruel #alex.txt #tw pet illness #tw sick pet #tw pet death mention #tw negative