#deceased parent

[sweetonsugden]

Would have been my mom’s birthday today. She loved red roses

[is-that-sand-in-my-waffles]

Ragnar Viszla really is having the absolute worst week of his life, isn't he?

[msweebyness]

You mentioned Darcy's mom having been a witch in another ask, can we know more about her?

So, her name was Sanna, she was a childhood friend of Jack, Oogie, Sally and the rest, and she and the boogeyman were kind of sweet on each other throughout their younger years. (I take my continuity from “The Battle for Pumpkin King”) She subscribed more to his way of thinking, and did some bad things with magic, leading to her being sent to the Isle. She and Oogie ended up reconnecting, getting married and eventually had their kids, Darcy, and years later, Nash. Here’s where it gets sad. About a year or so after Nash’s birth, Sanna got sick. Really sick. And because there were no real doctors or medical professionals on the Isle (#BeastWasABADKing), she ended up passing away with her husband and children powerless to do anything but watch it happen. Yeah…

@imsparky2002 @artzychic27

Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[morethanmbc]

There were two very large pine trees in the small grass lot near my Dad’s apartment. He had a fondness for them, and in turn, so did I. They’ve been cut down. I feel like I lost another little piece of him. The world keeps moving on and erasing the small reminders of him that comforted me. I cried tears of grief today- not truly for the trees, but for my Dad.

I also don’t know how to use this space anymore. I seek it out when big emotional things happen. But… it doesn’t feel “safe” given what happened surrounding the friendship breakup. Maybe I just need to try to build some security here again versus rebuilding something new. I don’t want to grieve this again, too.

[defire]

Miasma masterpost

Loss of Life Pt 3

Last chapter!

Content: comfort, past imprisonment, PTSD, deceased parent, grief, angst

Nife

"That's... stop it..." Nife feigned shock, mindlessly shoving at Caboodle's hand as he picked at the grass.

"What?" He said, hiding a grin. "What's wrong with using my third-favorite-nephew privileges exactly?"

"You did not get the best blanket in the prison by pulling the Wry card," Nife laughed.

"He did what?" Flower threw a piece of dirt at Caboodle, who threw it back.

"Caboodle Wry, snob? Have you met him?" Ank Frackett said.

"Ey, at least you guys got blankets." Rebel tossed over his shoulder from where he sat, facing toward the darker corners of the sanctum where the children waited out the tremors.

He was standing watch, Nife realized.

"There's an extra blanket here for you now," she called. 

"Are you giving him my blanket?" Caboodle jerked at it. "Give it back."

"No," Nife clutched at it, smirking at him. She was a few inches taller and a bit heavier than he was, so she pinned down key points of the cloak and let him try with all his might to take it, then suddenly rolled off and let it look like he'd gotten it by his own strength.

"Ha!" He grinned, raising it triumphantly, just as Nife gasped and remembered her injuries. 

She lay back, grimacing and blinking to get her reaction under control before she ruined the moment. It was healing faster than before. A night, and all she'd have left would be green and yellow bruising.

Now the other Souls were fighting over the wool blanket, until Caboodle raised his voice with an,

"I mean it, it's mine!"

And the others fell away from him, still laughing.

Nife noticed he was panting and red, and Kit was watching from a distance just like Rebel, only half-turned toward them.

Caboodle balled up his blanket and lay down with his arms around it, fishing around in his pockets for something, finally producing a faintly glowing quartzlight, looking at it in his fist and then quickly hiding it again when he saw Nife looking at it out of the corner of her eye.

"Nife..."

"Want your boots back?" She said.

She watched his eyes trace the rot-ridden lines of what was once fine deerskin leather. He wrinkled his nose.

"Keep them." He shook his head. "And I told you to wax them."

"I told you I was going all kinds of nasty places."

"And you did?" He sounded almost resigned now.

"I did." Nife smiled at the stars. "Lookitem, Caboodle."

She caught a glance from Rebel–more of a slight head-turn that she noticed as a reaction to her dialect shift. She made the “on your six” DJ hand sign at him again and he turned away with a small scoff. 

"Stars are... special, when you can see them." Caboodle said.

"Yeah."

Kit

Kit watched as Nife and Caboodle lay back on their coats, gazing up through the small hole above the withered tree that had once lived at the center of the temple of Life. 

He could only stare, heaving a sigh. All he could see was who wasn't there.

His father would never be here. His mother was dead.

And this family... He didn't want this family.

He was jealous. There the two of them were, happy together, as if they wanted nothing more than the people they had right there.

But Kit couldn't accept defeat. He couldn't accept that he'd never have the family he wanted. And sometimes he hated Nife for taking it away. 

Nife

It was late, Caboodle was still talking to someone else, and Nife was feeling tired. Tired of bullshitting, of darting careful glances over the friends she wanted to protect, now more aware than ever, of how vulnerable they all were.

They were children, and worse, nobles.

And there was an apocalyptic level of strife waiting to come through that broken outer wall.

And here she was, a sitting duck, ready to stand back from the destruction she'd made and watch her friends die one at a time. 

Storm.

Greeviss.

Kit. She desperately hoped not.

She turned on her heel before anyone could see her face, trying to lighten her step, but she was stomping away in Caboodle's boots to the reading alcoves in the corners of the place.

Dead cubes, lightstones, still decorated the sides of the building, which had been out of use for a long time now. The only reason it was still standing was because living wood had been incorporated into the walls, bursting bricks out of place, dirt gnawing through the walls, bugs everywhere, but still beautiful.

She sat down on a wicker chair which crackled and started splitting in places under her weight. She leaned forward, heedless of the breaking chair as she buried her face in her hands.

"I didn't want this. I didn't want this," She whispered, quietly sobbing through her hands. "I just wanted... friends."

"It's all gone to blazes." 

Nife broke off in the middle of a sob as she heard Kit coming in. 

At that moment, she didn't want him–she didn't want anyone. She didn't want to lose anyone else.

Better not to have anyone in the first place, it seemed.

"Hey Nife." He pulled up another chair, creaked down into it and nearly fell, but she caught him before he did, and fixed it so he could at least use it once.

"Thanks," he said as Nife sniffled and wiped her tears as quietly as possible.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Because none of us is going to be able to replace the family you should've had."

She turned away, covering her eyes with one hand, making faces to try to keep the tears away.

"Our parents should've been the ones making this sacrifice," he said, looking at his clasped hands.

Nife rubbed her forehead under her horns. Her parents hadn't been in the war. They got their lordships by kissing up to the invaders. And then they’d sold her when she tried to fix what they’d done wrong.

Kit sniffed.

Nife realized he was crying.

She hastily put an arm around him and hugged him tight.

"Is this okay," She grunted.

"Yeah," he whispered and nodded, even though he didn't hug back.

"It's all over," he said, staring at his knuckles as they gripped tighter. "Everything I wanted. The family I wanted. It's over."

Nife closed her eyes.

"I'm never getting over this," She said.

"Me neither."

End of Miasma. To be continued in the Sinking City Book 3.

Here's Miasma on kindle

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

Tag list: @bamber344 @sorcererfen @iamheretohurt @notlikeothernurses @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

This is Miasma, Book 2 of the Sinking City series after Dance of Death.

[morethanmbc]

My Dearest Dad,

November 6th, 2023 puts us at 730 days - 2 (devastatingly long, yet super short, upsetting, chaotic, challenging) years - without you. I don’t know how I’ve managed this long without you. It’s likely as simple as having no other choice.

It’s still so difficult, especially with my recent news. But I’ve got great people surrounding and supporting me. Despite this, I continue to miss your guidance. It would be appreciated in heaps lately.

I’m sure I’d be making you crazy as I continue to over analyze and plot out every scenario to be “prepared”; and give me an exasperated “I don’t know, Ashley!”. I was always “Ash”, unless I was making you crazy. 🤣

I always know you’re looking out for me (doing some of this: 🤦🏻, but also some of this: 🙂, and this too: 💗) even though some days, I wonder if I’m turning out how you expected and if you’re proud (?). I hope you are.

I will continue to talk about you often and always keep you present and part of my life. You still live with me (in my heart).

I love you, Dad, always.

Rest Easy.

[bastardofmothman]

*Pops on tumblr via laptop instead of phone once all fucking day*

*Sees 10+ father’s day posts*

Fuck this, I’m out.

[gingeralecans]

I don't sleep. I stay up thinking about all the time we missed that we could have had together and how I regret every single time I never took the chance to be with you when time came. I’m so sorry. . .