#deathday

[joemerl]

And Mordred and Lucan et al.

[softkombuchaa]

[farewellsickle]

@gato-hedonista the people hauve spoken. YAOI BEAM!!!!

would you believe they both still think theyre casual after this

[burrowkit]

Happy Birthday Jackal

Inspiration by @why-am-i-not-cat-blog

Allie: Happy Birthday! Jackal: What's this? Allie: It's... a pair of shoes? Jackal: Why did you bring me a pair of shoes? Allie: Cause it's your birthday? Jackal: My... birthday? Allie: You know, once a year, on the day you were born? Jackal: Yes, I'm familiar with the concept. Today's not my birthday. Allie: Okay, but like, you won't tell me when your birthday is so just... nevermind. Screw this. I tried Allie: You know what, screw you, Jackal. I tried to do something nice cause I thought you might enjoy these, but whatever. If you want to continue wearing shoes that are beyond repair, whatever. I'm done. Allie: And another thing, f you. Jackal: Are you done? Allie: ... Jackal: My birthday was in the fall. Allie: Really? Jackal: No idea. But I died in the summer, so if you really feel like celebrating, pick a day in the summer and call it my Deathday Allie: Oh. Okay, then I'll bring these back in few months. Jackal: Where's the puppy? Allie: Not in a giant cardboard cake? Jackal: A cardboard cake? Allie: I said he wasn't. Gosh, do you even listen to me? Jackal: Hard to say. You tend to go in circles, moaning and complaining about my treatment of your precious bloodbags. Allie: Whatever. Happy Deathday you bugger Silence Jackal: Sister, wait Jackal: I... when's your Deathday? Allie: I refuse to celebrate the day I die Jackal: Fine, then- Allie: Pick a day in the fall. Allie: Come on Zeke, let's go

[lovingsylvia]

Today marks the 61st anniversary of Sylvia Plath’s death! RIP!

Sylvia Plath 27 October 1932 Jamaica Plain, Boston, Massachusetts, USA - 11 February 1963, Primrose Hill, London, England, United Kingdom

…

"I want to live each day for itself like a string of colored beads, and not kill the present by cutting it up in cruel little snippets to fit some desperate architectural draft for a taj mahal in the future."

–The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Excerpt: December II for December 1955

...

Photo: Sylvia Plath at Smith College Quadigras dance in May 1954

[autistic-sylvester]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Six - Marlow/Moss Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Catherine Parr & The Queens (Six - Marlow/Moss), Catalina de Aragón | Catherine of Aragon & María de Salinas, Catalina de Aragón | Catherine of Aragon & Catherine Parr Queen of England Characters: Catherine Parr Queen of England, Catalina de Aragón | Catherine of Aragon, María de Salinas, Anna von Kleve | Anne of Cleves Queen of England, Catherine Howard Queen of England, Katherine Howard, The Ladies in Waiting (Six - Marlow/Moss), The Queens (Six - Marlow/Moss) Additional Tags: the lady in waiting are here, Soft Catherine of Aragon, Death Day, cathy is sad, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Catalina and maria are just surrogate mothers at this point, the other queens are only mentioned in the first chapter, more to come - Freeform, happy birthday mary parr, Autistic Catherine Parr Queen of England, Catherine Parr Queen of England is Called Cathy, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst Summary:

Cathys death day is approching nothing good comes from a death day

cw - chapter 2 involves refrenced death in childbirth, sickness ,

[fence-macabre]

Deathday - April 14

As the frost melts away, and green sprigs of new life begin to break through the icy ground, we welcome in a time of renewal, hope, and change. There’s a bony rap of knuckles at your door, and an invitation written with care slid into the mailslot, as Fence Macabre invites all to celebrate their fourth Deathday anniversary.

Deathday is a storytelling night for new beginnings and change. Everyone's got a story. Share a life-changing experience. Tell a tale of a transformation which redefined who you were, perhaps even your very death. Reveal a revelation which altered your path in history forever. Or just have a seat and listen to the tales told.

Date: Friday, April 14th Location: Fence Macabre Phase - TBA same day; Gilneas Liberation Front Base Camp, Silverpine Forest

[sylvermoths]

This is why it's moving around in there

[adhd-merlin]

king arthur has been dead for 1481 slutty, slutty years

[darling-valentine]

man I'm so sad, haven't been sleeping at all lately, didn't write the usual text for my deathday this years (it was two weeks ago) so I'll guess I'll do it now

This year's deathday was weird, i spent it with my beloved n some friends instead of my crying n suffering alone like i usually do, it was a fun day but i couldn't grief properly

It also feels weird because of my brothers' passing, my deathday even seems silly now. I feel like i died again and again when then died, i don't know if i can handle all the pain of both my death and theirs, it's a little to much to bear, i can barely breathe anymore and i feel like my lungs are full of holes and my heart doesn't pump blood like it used to.

Of course i won't kill myself, i promised my brothers I'd be fine, i promised it to my mom n my cousin n my boyfriend too, so even if i really really wanna die i know i can't cause i hate breaking promises, still hurts to have to move my dead body around like some sort of meat puppet.

I miss my lil bros so much, i keep going back n seeing all ours pictures n videos together, i wish we could've spent more time with each other, it hurts knowing i can't feel their foreheads when i kiss them anymore.

We adopted Neru so he's my lil brother now too, he's the sweetest little puppy ever, but both Jacko's and Tello's death haunt me, they shouldn't have died, it wasn't their time, they were both healthy n happy n i felt i was finally getting better n staring to be happy and then they were gone, all cause my stepfather is an empty-headed irresponsible idiot, it's hard for me to not hit him with a bat whenever I see him sitting in the living room.

N i also feel guilty cause i feel they died cause they make me really happy n since god hates me he killed them, or that my bad luck killed them, or that I'm cursed and so is everything i love, and i am so so scared the people i love die all the time

In summary everything hurts too much n I'll keep on living because my lil bros r connected to me n killing this body would hurt them too n also I'm the only thing that keeps em connected to the living realm i think??? That's how it feels at least

My own death still hurts but everything hurts more now cause i miss my lil bros more than i miss myself

I'm scared of death but my god would it be great to finally rest

I love my beloved and my mom and my dad and my cousin and Neru n they keep me alive

I hate everyone else tho

I love how the clouds look and i guess i can't see them if I'm buried, i can still lay on the grass and pretend I'm dead

My head hurts

I hate sleeping alone

[on-the-clear-blue]

So you know how there is a common fan theory that ghosts go through their death again on their death day? What about Jason going through it?

Feeling angsty crew, prepare yourselves

Trigger warnings: Jason death and all that comes with that, SA implications.

---

The first time it had happened it was in a LOA base, still catatonic and barely speaking, Jason was forced to train through the dark bruises that slowly appeared on his body, from his ribs and chest, to his fingers getting bent and crooked.

His trainers watched, not filled with concern but curiosity, an effect such a this had not been seen in the leauge in some time

As smoke was coughed up from his lungs and as bits of his flesh turned the same ghastly green as the pits, they watched, documenting it, unable to look away as the man boy seized and went still, finally.

---

The second time it happened, Jason was in Gotham, set up in a safe house, sirens and gun shots ringing out into the night, the sounds of his childhood.

He hadn't planned to stay long, only stopping by the safe house to grab a restock of ammo

Then came the phantom pains, tightness around his wrists, a deep, ever increasing sense of dread.

Jason staggered at the first ghostly strike to his head, hands flashing to his guns, scanning the room for what ever invisible foe that had struck him.

The next blow brought Jason to his knees, it hurt, oh God did it hurt, his head was pounding in a way that he barely remembered.

The feeling of his ribs crack robbed him of breath, a bone spur puncturing his lung, then came his hands, finger bones broke one at a time.

Jason curled himself up in a ball, just as he tired to years ago, tears streaming down his face under the metallic hood. The ticking demination of a clock ringing cruelly in his ears.

Then came the explosion, leaving his ears bleeding, eardrums ruptured, brain addled even more than the blunt force trauma caused.

With broken hands, Jason struggled to take off his helmet, as smoke poured out of his already damaged lungs. Smoke that clogged the helmet filters, that trapped it all around his face.

Jason Todd died a third time, the same way as the first two time that night.

---

It was a few years after the first time (that he remembered), that he found himself on a very bad day, he had found out that it always happened on the day he died, and he still didn't know what God had cursed him to relive it over and over again.

To add even more crap to his shittiest day, he was stuck in Wayne Manor.

The sense of dread was running though him, his hands were shaking terribly as he tried to just get away but his body wouldnt listen, he needed to leave get to his room, any room, hid away from his family, he didnt want them to see him like this didnt need them to be worried for him, he was so stupid, so idiotic to have forgotten what day it was, so wrapped up in having his family again that he forgot his curse.

---

Dick had a smile on his lips as he was about to jokingly throw a gaming controller at Jason, knowing he would likely start something to get his gaggle of siblings to do something together.

Yet it never left his hands, as he noticed Jason's eyes had gone glassy, a distant look in them, and a dull green sheen emanating from them.

Fear wormed it's way through him, Pit episodes had become less and less of a thing with his brother, something he was more than happy to see, but...this didn't seem to be the same thing.

Sending a concerned look to Tim, who has just walked into the room, even though he hoped (he thought they were over these, that Jason was getting better) Dick waved him back, if this was actually a Pit episode, he didnt need Jason to go off on Tim anymore than he had in the past.

Slowly approached his brother, Dick saw his eyes look into the middle distance, lost in his own head, "Littlewing? Jay I-I didnt..." His hand moved cautiously, coming into Jason's space and-

He flinched...Hard. Eyes flashing up at Dick but not seeing him, stuck deep in something else

Dicks heart dropped, Jason hadn't flinched when he had tried to touch him in years, not since a small boy in a ratty red hoodie was in Dicks old room, crying as he begged to not be sent back to the streets for them to "P-please don't t-touch me...I-Im sorry I-ill be good I promise"

But the words that came from Jason were far more haunting than what he uttered in fear, a voice hoarse and small came from him, slurred and heady with pain "Just...just let her go...C-can do anything to me...j-just let mom go..."

Bile, that was all Dick could taste as he held back what wanted to come up, he knew in a second what Jason was seeing, who Dick was to Jason's mind, trapped in memories.

He didn't know when he took a step back, didn't know when he had pulled away from his little brother until his back hit the wall, taking a shaky breath he forced himself back, He needed to be there, be there for his brother unlike...unlike last time.

"Jaybird it's me, Dickie? Jason..." he reached out agian, only to cringe back as his little brother flinch back, curling in on himself, his head tucked between his legs.

Dick didn't know Jason could look so small still, a distant thought bubbling up about maybe that's why he got so big, so he could never be that small again...but yet he was...

And Dick Hated It.

His hands fumbled for his phone, his fingers felt like lead, and all he could do is dial Ina number.

"Dad? Jason needs you..."

---

Bruce tore through the halls of his home with a fervor, his mind spinning with thoughts, from Dick’s description of what was happening this was a Pit episode of some sort, far different than any he had seen before.

The halls of his home never felt so long and never felt so claustrophobic.

Old demons in his mind cackled, bringing back the doubts of himself...if only he was just a little faster, a little less prideful...

Coming into the den, Bruce scanned the room, seeing his eldest kneeling by Jason, trying to be soothing while not touching him.

Dick face was hard and worried when he looked up at Bruce.

They shared a silent conversation, ending with Bruce taking Dick place on the floor, Dick in turn leaving to try and figure what was happening.

"Jaylad, Sweetheart, you have to breath, Jason?" It hurt to see his son flinch as he reached out, but Bruce pressed on, his fingers softly pressing against his son's pulse point on his wrist.

Dread spreads across Bruce's mind as he can hardly find a pulse, pulling his hand back the dread turns to horror as he see red and deep blue bruises start to from across Jason's face.

His eyes were open, dull instead of the bright they should be, his breathing sounded forced and-

It was his nightmares all over again.

Pushing past the fear, Bruce forced himself to pick Jason up, holding his dear boy so...so close to his chest, jaw shaking as he rushed through the halls once again.

He can't let his son die in his arms yet again.

---

Hours later, Bruce watches as Leslie called time of death, they did everything they could but it wasnt enough...his mind is disconnected from his body, a deep dark numbness burns within him and he just can't understand why...

Why the world seems to determined to make his family suffer? What had he done other than try and help, to cure the throbbing cancer that is Gotham? To help his fellow man live better and be happy...

His numbly looks around the med area, his children gathered, Dick is crying onto Cass's shoulder, Cass herself has tears but she refuses to shed them, Duke held his head in his hands, small shakings in his shoulders could only be crying, Stephanie was by Leslie, demanding answers and what happened with emotions think in her voice

Tim wasn't there, he was on the other side of the cave, running through data files, looking for anything that could cure this...Bruce would need to tell him to stop, that it was already over.

And Damian...his youngest just stood there, arms crossed and...politely blank was all Bruce could see, no mourning as the others. Just...waiting.

He was the only one not shocked when Jason groaned, sat up, cursed and promptly fell back onto the bed.

---

Damian sauntered over to where they had placed Todd, all of them still so careful with him, as if he would up and fall dead if someone was to as much as sneeze in his direction.

"Tt, Honestly it is as if they don't know this happens every year..." His own reliving of his deaths was far less dramatic.

Todd had the gall to look at him with confusion, and it took a moment for Damian to realize what his look ment "You never told them did you, Tt...Typical" shaking his head, Damian sat next to Jason's has-been death bed.

"Not all of us brought back from the dead suffer so spectacularly as you do Todd, as Jon would say...I believe this is a *Skill Issue*? Hashtag get good?" He didn't use the lingo lightly,

And of course, instead of being offended as he should, Todd just stared dumbly at him "This is when you banter, or has your repeated blunt force truama to the head bludgeoned you into stupidity?"

Shaking his head, Damian tutted "Clearly I have to do everything in this poor excuse for a social interaction" clearing his throat Damian put on a deeper voice as to mimic Jason "Shut it Demon Brat. I do truly hate that nickname. Oh woe is me why am i just a little bitch that can only suffer. Worry not dearest fuck up of a human being I can help you. Oh glory be you, you turly the greatest Robin. Oh only you say it now~"

Damian gave a dead pan stare at Todds slackjawed look, "Shut it, Jon is rubbing off and me and i cant for the life of me make it stop...but honestly if you wish to know more, seek out Phantom, though...you look pathetic enough that he might just find you first."

[rat-jay]

Soft clouds to you, Mahiru

[clanofjones]

I'm sorry WHAT NOW

We should have Fandom Calenders or some shit

(Reblog your answer!!)

[farewellsickle]

two drunk and lonely men; the bitten hand and the sorry mouth that wants him again

erm We're ocxcanon yaoibrained here right (•w•;)

[hortensius]

[lovingsylvia]

Today marks the 49th anniversary of Anne Sexton’s death! RIP!

(9 November 1928, Newton, MA – 4 October 1974, Weston, MA)

...

Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say,

and yet she waits for me, year and year, to so delicately undo an old would, to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of a book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the look, whatever it was, an infection.

–Anne Sexton, from “Wanting to Die”, written February 3, 1964 (in: Live or Die, 1966)

...

Photo via: https://www.thomasfasano.com/2020/07/anne-sexton-smith-corona-typewriter.html