#Death and dying

[diana-andraste]

Anonymous nude, c. 1920, from Robert Flynn Johnson's collection

[saycheeseandsmile]

[angelic0alice]

Idk i want to die

[ourslutfactory]

The forever sleep

[maudnewton]

Friends, it's been a while. How've you been, apart from... everything? Catch me up if you'd like.

If you don't remember why you're following me: I'm a writer. You might like my book, Ancestor Trouble, if you're interested in family history, genealogy, mental health, generational trauma, systemic harms, and spiritual practices around ancestors and our alienation from those practices in Western modernity. I was finishing it up at the end of the first Trump administration, and to be perfectly honest I viewed it in part at that time it as a kind of stealth self-help book for people who might be groping toward the same kinds of questions in a period where the world seemed to be moving backward.

Ancestor Trouble was called a book of the year by the New Yorker, NPR, the Washington Post, Time, the Boston Globe, Esquire, Garden & Gun, and more. It was a pick for Roxane Gay's Audacious Book Club and a New York Times Editors' Choice selection, and a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle's John Leonard Prize for a first book in any genre.

In a sense it's a memoir, and it's also broader than a pure memoir. On Bluesky, the religion professor Seth Shafer recently described it as "the most unexpected textbook I use [in my Death and the Afterlife class] because it shows very personally how the dead always have a relationship with us whether we know it or not. It's also got the best treatment of ancestor religion I've ever read." A review in the latest National Genealogical Society Quarterly characterizes Ancestor Trouble as fascinating, fun, engaging, and relatably meandering.

Here are some excerpts and related essays:

My Ancestors Enslaved Black People; Acknowledging that Matters, for Guardian US

A Doorway, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Medium

Learning About Ourselves From Genealogy, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Wall Street Journal

On My Father, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Esquire

On Uncovering Family Histories America Is Still Wresting With, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Time

My Accused Witch Ancestor Was Also an Enslaver, at Medium

The seeds of the book were family history posts on my blog in the aughts, and a Harper's cover story, America's Ancestry Craze, in 2014.

[shaotie]

**WARNING** this comic does NOT have a happy ending

🔹🔹🔹

What if Leo didn't survive the prison dimension?

🔹🔹🔹

"Took You Long Enough"

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- masterpost for my rottmnt ao3 fanfics and art

[victusinveritas]

Detail of a Roman mosaic of a grinning skeleton, Pompei - ca. 1st cent AD.

[useless-moss]

Was writing a fluffy prompt idea and my brain smacked me in the frontal lobe with this idea.

Kissing on the battlefield. A kiss goodbye because one or both are injured and they aren't sure they're gonna make it. A kiss for good luck. A kiss to celebrate, because they think they've won.

Then an arrow is shot, or maybe a spear is thrown. Impaling one all the way through and getting lodged in the other. Medics are too far away or don't have the right supplies, and an injury like this is complicated to fix anyway.

Each movement aches. Each ragged breath shifts the weapon, sending pain through them both as blood bubbles up their throats and stains their tunics. The most they can manage is barely lowering themselves to the ground, where they wait. Hoping friends and allies can do something, but also content to die like this. To die together, in eachothers arms, physically unable to be separated.

[ram-is-here]

Set to war, by fear.

[diana-andraste]

Der beste Arzt, (The Best Physician), Alfred Kubin, 1901-03

[alliceolivia]

It wasn't supposed to end like this... (Dean Winchester)

got inspired by a c.ai chat by @ohsc (https://character.ai/chat/-shIrW-rM7gVslIxhE8fqP3rC2C0pNNWB2fOWcuuECQ)

Tried to ask them if it was fine that I posted this, but I never got any answer... I'm posting it anyway (obviously), but girly just dm me if you want me to take it down <3 love ya

Part 2

Hunt gone wrong. He can’t save you.

TW: sad ig? dying??

Word count: 1680

He’d watched it happen.

The hunt was never supposed to go this sideways. It was bad enough dealing with a rogue vampire in the middle of fucking nowhere in the first place, but they were never supposed to get a hold of his gun, and they were never supposed to shoot.

Dean had watched as you stood there in shock. Then you fell to the floor. He didn’t even think — he swung his machete to the vampire’s neck, and its head hadn’t even hit the floor before he was on the ground beside you. There was so much blood. It was soaking through your clothes, onto the floor, onto him — You were miles out of town, and he didn’t have Cas with him — he felt helpless.

“Sam!” He shouted, his voice was raw. He didn’t even look at Sam as he threw the car keys in his direction. “Get the car now!”

Dean didn’t look up as Sam ran off to get the car, he just kept his eyes down on you, pulling you into his lap. His entire body flinched at the way you cried out as he pressed his hand firmly down on the gunshot wound, nauseous at the feeling of your warm sticky blood against his palm.

“I know, I know,” he was fucking shaking, his breathing sharp and panicked as he kept his hand firmly pressed to your stomach even as you flinched in pain and tried to push it away. “You’re gonna be okay, baby, you’re gonna be okay-“ he felt like he was choking as he stared down at you, his heart in his throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

…

Dean’s hand was pressed tightly against your bullet wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. His breath was coming in short, uneven gasps, but he refused to let go. Not yet. He couldn’t. Not when you were still breathing, when there was still a chance —no matter how slim— that he could save you. His mind raced, looking for answers, for anything that could fix this. He could feel the warm slickness of your blood beneath his fingertips, hear the wet, laboured sound of your breathing. He could feel the fear radiating off of you, and worse— he could feel that you knew.

You knew you weren’t going to make it.

Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open, but it felt like gravity itself was pulling you into the depths of darkness. The pain was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the sharp sting of the bullet, but the weight of the realization settling deep inside you: this was the end. You were going to die.

You’d always known how dangerous this life was, but you had hoped. Hoped you’d get out alive. You had even dared to hope that you and Dean could walk away from this life. Escape the endless fight. But now? It was too late for that.

You loved him. Even though you’d never said it, you loved him. Every glance, every touch, every moment together—each one had been an unspoken promise. You had always known. But Dean, like you, had never dared to say the words. Neither of you had ever been the type for declarations, for confessions. But it was there. The connection was undeniable. It was in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the way he always made sure you were safe, even at his own expense. You’d been through too much together for it to be anything less than love.

And that’s why you couldn’t let him stay.

You didn’t want him to watch you die. You didn’t want him to feel the crushing weight of the finality of it, to witness your last breath. It would break him. And if there was any part of you still fighting, it was for him. He couldn’t lose you like this.

“Dean…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, cracked with pain. He looked down at you, eyes wide with desperation, with raw fear.

“I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hand tightened against the wound, pressing harder, as though that would somehow stop the bleeding, make you better, make it all go away.

“It’s fine. You’re gonna make it,” he said, his voice shaking, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. He wouldn’t accept it. He couldn’t accept it.

But you knew. You knew.

You could feel your strength fading, the world around you growing dimmer. You had to do something. You had to get him away from you, away from the truth that you were slipping through his fingers.

“Sam’s been gone for too long,” you said softly, a weak attempt at distraction, your words a fragile plea for him to leave. “You should go check on him. Something might have happened. More vampires?”

Dean’s eyes flickered with hesitation. He didn’t want to leave. He never wanted to leave your side, especially now, when everything was falling apart. He knew what you were doing. He knew exactly what you were trying to do.

It took him a moment to process it. The realization that you were giving him an out. That you were pushing him away not because you wanted him gone, but because you wanted to spare him from the horror of watching you die.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing together as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked down at you, and for a brief moment, you saw a glimpse of something breaking inside him. But you needed this. You needed him to leave, even if it hurt him to do so.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were wet, glossed over with unshed tears. His hand stayed firmly pressed against your wound, though he was starting to realize that nothing was going to stop it now. He was too late.

You could feel the tears that were threatening to fall in his eyes, but you couldn’t bear it. Not when it was already too late.

“Please, Dean,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You have to go. I’m... I’m not going to make it.” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, but you needed him to hear them. You needed him to understand.

His breath hitched. His lips parted as though he was going to argue, to beg you to keep fighting. But you could see it— the moment the truth hit him, the moment the realization sunk in that you weren’t going to make it. That there was no miracle left, no way to pull you back from the edge.

“Please…” you whispered again, your eyelids growing heavy, your vision blurring. “Sam... he might need you.”

He took one last, tortured look at you, the fight still burning in his eyes, but it slowly dimmed. With a sharp, pained exhale, he nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice trembling, breaking in the middle of the sentence. He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for just a moment too long. His hands were shaking as he pulled away, but he forced himself to stand, forced himself to turn away.

You watched him walk into the darkness, your chest tightening as his footsteps faded.

The moment he was out of sight, you allowed yourself to slip away.

…

Dean was on his way back. He knew you would be dead when he returned, but he didn’t want to believe it. He regretted leaving you the second he did, but he also knew you wouldn’t forgive him if he stayed. He hoped, no, he needed you to still be alive.

But it was always a distant hope. The kind of hope that didn’t stand a chance when reality came crashing down.

When he finally reached the spot where he had left you, his heart sank into his stomach. The air was just as quiet as he had feared. Too quiet. No sounds of you crying out in pain, no weak murmurs of breath. The world felt impossibly still, as though time itself had stopped.

Dean froze in the doorway of his own mind, his breath catching. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. He knew what he would see. He slowly made his way over to you.

His knees gave out. He collapsed beside you, his breath sharp and shallow, his throat tight with grief. He pulled you into his arms without a second thought, clutching you to him like the last thing that mattered in this godforsaken world. His hands shook as he touched your face, smoothing the hair away from your forehead, his fingers trembling as they traced the outline of your cheek.

He cradled you against him as he did something he never did. He prayed. He prayed to God. He prayed to Castiel. He prayed to Lucifer. Anyone. Anyone with power enough he prayed to. Begging for an answer, for help.

But, his prayers were nothing but desperate pleas.

…

Finally, Dean stood, trembling and broken. Sam was there, silent, his face etched with grief but ready to help.

“We’ll give her a hunter’s funeral,” Dean muttered, his voice hollow, eyes staring past Sam into the void. “She deserves that.”

Together, they carried you to the car, the weight of loss pressing down on them.

As the flames of the pyre licked the night sky, Dean stood alone, eyes fixed on the blaze. His lips moved silently, not praying for a miracle now, but for the strength to endure. He had always been the one who fought, who never gave up, who found a way to keep moving forward, no matter the odds. But not this time. This time, there was no fight left in him. He could feel it. It was all gone, swallowed up by the unbearable weight of the loss he had caused.

The world that had always felt like it was made of light and hope and endless possibility, now felt impossibly, crushingly dark.

[anonymousobsidian]

[potatoesarecheese]

oh, nothing. just thinking about...

characters that simply refuse to die

characters where the universe will not let them die, you have one more job, you have one more purpose, you have just one more day that you have to live through- and they keep living because they know that the universe is right.

characters that stand on deaths door for just a few seconds too long, and then turn around. they are drawn back to the land of the living through love and fear and pure spite and the raw, visceral need to live.

characters who stand on deaths door and knock, and are let in for afternoon tea. who are so familiar with death that they can have a friendly chat with the reaper, and then return to the land of the living.

characters that crawl out of their graves hissing and spitting and something entirely inhuman, intent on dying again and dragging as many people along with them.

characters that crawl out of their graves screaming and crying, so full of pain that all they can do is wander the streets and wail. no one listened to them in life, so they refuse to be forgotten in death.

characters that crawl out of their graves hollow and carry their burdens alone. they fill their hollow bodies with someone else's tears and take away everyone's sorrow, because they've already survived this much, they can handle a little more. and by the time they realize they're dying again, it's already too late.

[pissboy-supreme]

Crow skull - my first ever cleaned find! It’s the length of my middle finger and incredibly delicate. I’m scared to whiten it more cause I don’t want to damage the bone. I’ve been burying animals (especially crows) since I can remember, so it seems perfect that I’d start with one.

Rest in peace, little guy 💙

[lakeville-lolita]

two can keep a secret if one of them is dead

abandoned morgue

[shaotie]

Seven Years chapter list with links to my fic on ao3

updates are planned for Mondays, I'll do the best I can to stick to a schedule.

- masterpost for my rottmnt ao3 fanfics and art

(*chapter 23 is a very emotional chapter so just as a heads up I decided to color it)

[1. Seven Years or One Day?] [2. It Begins] [3. The Whole Truth] [4. The Truth Hurts] [5. Turtle Meat] [6. Brotherly 'Bonding' ] [7. An Angry Turtle and a Very Tired One] [8. Mystic Attack] [9. Apologies, Apologies, Apologies]

[10. Family Brunch] [11. (Not) a Glitch in the System] [12. Master Leonardo] [13. Three Words I Never Thought I'd Hear Draxum Say] [14. His Other Dad] [15. Even Heroes Like Bar Nuts]

[16. A Sudden Turn] [17. I Can Fix This!"] [18. Green, Blue, and a Bright Red Light] [19. Sophisticated Five-in-One Microwave] [20. Grave News for a Busy Skeleton] [21. Disaster Twins at it Again][22. Flash Photography] [23. Not Falling Asleep]

[24. Coconut Lime Body Mist] [25."Leonardo?"] [26. Hope and Mystic Butterflies] [27. Invisible Faceman] [28. "INeedaMinute!!!"] [29. Time Travel is Confusing]