#family death cw

[theelvishfiddler]

An angsty backstory because they are fun and I needed the characters to be split into groups. This one is mostly just TMNT characters, Eggman is just.... here. He is enjoying the show.

[plenilune]

well. got horrible news and then worse news this week that my favourite aunt's incredible butch wife was a) diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder after a few months of sudden health problems b) then given three to six months as her condition worsened c) then died several days after being given at least three months. one of those things I have no idea how to process, because my aunt and her wife are deeply beloved but not part of my daily life -- we've always been the type of family who don't see each other for a year and a half and then pick up immediately like no time has passed. the real grief may not hit till I next see Amy and Cyn isn't there with her.

my aunt is the only other openly queer member of my extended family that I know of, so there's also... that feeling... as well as, now I have to deal with my messy, messy immediate family, who I do not want to deal with At All In Any Capacity, but must.

arrangements have not been made yet. I'm figuring out how to get out to the Philly area once I know anything more. just. god. what an evil fucking year. the last time I saw Cyn, at my grandmother's funeral (a much happier funeral occasion, as my grandmother died at 89 still fully in possession of her self, hobbies, memory, and interest in the world, so we were all gathered teary-eyed and laughing, sharing stories and hoping that's how we all get to go when it comes), she was relieved that I was also wearing a suit, so she wasn't the only female-in-the-family's-eyes person wearing one. her suits were incredible. she and Amy cut up the dance floor at my sister's wedding a few years ago, Cyn in her sharp blue suit and Amy in a fluffy little dress and platform heels with the rainbow of colours in her hair matching the flowers in her wife's buttonhole. they're in their fifties. they both have kids. they were so, so delighted by each other. they should have had so much time.

Corey and I and my middle sister and her husband and Amy's two kids (my age) were the only of Amy's family to come to her wedding. (her mother, my grandmother, wanted to come, but she was too frail to leave her care home. she told my sister when my sister visited how annoyed she was at all of her other four children, including my father, for politely making excuses not to be there.) Corey and I drove about twelve hours in a single day to get there, because we knew that was going to be the case. Cyn's family was all there, though, welcoming and funny and eccentric. the wedding was a masquerade ball. Cyn and Amy both wore gold velvet cloaks that Amy sewed for them, pinned with mallorn leaf pins.

I have a wine bottle from their wedding with their names on the label on the top of my bookshelf. it's full of dried yellow roses.

anyway I don't... know how to feel yet. Corey and I took a really beautiful late afternoon walk in the thick-clouded winter grey with the dog, pointing at architecture and at people's light displays. I'm working on some collage projects tomorrow. I have leftist book club on Wednesday. and something horrible has happened. my body has built up a resistance to something horrible happening. it doesn't remember how to feel it. if I feel it, the whole thing could come down and I could become insane. this happened a few winters ago. I don't remember large swaths of it.

they should have had so much time.

[defilerwyrm]

Just got back from my recently-passed grandmother's memorial service. As with Papa's funeral, about half the town came out for it. There was thankfully very little scripture, but instead the vast majority of the time was friends, family, and townsfolk sharing memories of and stories about my Nana.

My brother spoke of how she instilled in us a great love of and passion for art. My cousin—youngest of the [my mom's maiden name] cousins, who was picked on terribly as a kid, especially by her own siblings—talked about how Nana provided a safe, reliable getaway for her growing up. Mom talked about how Nana knew the history of the Canyon and all its families inside and out—a truly encyclopedic knowledge of local history going back to the 1850s—how she knew the history of every piece of furniture in her house. Mom was always on her to write a book about it. Nana did manage to write quite a bit, though not all of it. I look forward to getting my copy.

One woman talked about how, 30 years ago, my grandparents sold her her house when she moved here, and after that, Nana and her best friend (my late godmother) met her for coffee at the local diner three times a week: catching up, teaching her the history of the Canyon and its people, introducing her around, putting in the work with her to integrate her into the community. She said my Nana basically became a second mother to her.

There were a whole lot of people around my parents' age who said that Nana was like a surrogate mother to them. I guess that's where my mom got it, and in my own way I got it from Mom. A sort of family legacy.

She left an indelible mark on this community. There's scarcely a single human life in the Canyon not touched at some point by her welcoming kindness. I share my grief with an entire village, because she cultivated a life of community-mindedness and open arms that made this place what it is and made its people who they are. She will not soon be forgotten.

There were lamb sliders and deviled eggs at the reception at the little Methodist church she was a member of for 73 years. She always loved those. I love them too.

...It's funny. As my brother, sister-in-law and I walked into the cemetery, someone's laugh carried over the wind and for just a moment I could have sworn it was her voice.

I don't have kids, I don't like kids, but I still have the instinct to take others under my wing—or sometimes they just insert themselves there and I'm happy to roll with it—but it's seldom crossed my mind that doing so might be part of what I leave others with when I die. I know I want to leave a legacy of something. I always thought it would be art, but...probably not, my disabilities and clusterfuck life pretty much killed my hope of that. If I can't be remembered for generations to come for the things I create, I hope maybe at least I can be remembered for at least one generation as...something. Something good, I hope. A fierce defender. A community guardian. Someone who made others welcome. Maybe, maybe, as someone who was kind to those who needed a little kindness in their lives.

I hope there are lamb sliders and deviled eggs at my funeral.

[madeimpact]

Hi guys, a lot of you might have seen my earlier post explaining my absence, but for anyone who missed it, my mother recently and very suddenly passed away of a hemorrhagic stroke. She was a huge role model to me and I'm extremely fortunate and grateful for the beacon of light and strength she's been for me. Unfortunately, she was the sole breadwinner in our family, and our cruel mistress of capitalism doesn't care about the grieving process.

My cousin was extremely gracious and set up a Gofundme memorial fund. Any contributions will help my family stay afloat while we figure out how to go forward from here, but even if you can't contribute, a reblog will help immensely. Thanks for your understanding and compassion. 💖

[vocesincaput]

OPEN STARTER: Frenchie

With everyone back together again, the crew had gotten a British Naval ship in it's sights and decided to raid it for supplies. Wanting to get back into the swing of things and gel again as a full crew.

They were surveying the deck from the Revenge, readying to board when the ships servants came on deck, making them hesitate for a moment. When one of the servants turned around, a chill ran through Frenchie and he froze on the spot.

It had been years, but... he still remembered that face. He would always remember that face.

His mother...

He felt as if every ounce of breath had left his body. His mother was right there. After all these years... she was there. Frenchie tried to will himself to say something, to tell someone who she was and that they needed to get to her. But he was so in shock that he couldn't move.

The shock turned into horror only a moment later when the Captain of the ship turned to the group of servants and even from the Revenge it could be seen how he was admonishing them. Yelling something that was lost on the wind until suddenly raised his gun and fired it at his mother. Killing her instantly.

Frenchie cried out but it was drowned out by the rest of the crew yelling and springing into action. It didn't take long before the crew of the ship were either killed or taken captive for ransom. Frenchie had gone numb whilst everything happened, barely anything registering with him. Commands not reaching his ears.

Whilst the rest of the crew were taking the captives and any supplies back over to the Revenge, Frenchie made sure that all of the servants got onto one of the small boats the Naval ship used to go to shore with enough supplies to last them and a little more. He had wrapped up his mothers body and the servants promised to make sure she would get a proper burial before he sent them on their way.

Returning to the ship, Frenchie hadn't said a word the entire time and, whilst everyone else was going over everything and celebrating, he went below deck. Face expressionless and not hearing any words that made have been said after him.

He found a quiet spot that he knew no one ever really went to and sat down upon the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling his arms around them. Eyes closed tight as Frenchie tried to will what had just happened into the little box he kept within his mind for all the bad things he had seen. But no matter how hard he tried, the box just wouldn't close. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes the harder and harder he tried to force it closed. But it was too much and he could almost see the cracks beginning to form.

Frenchie was so lost within his mind that he didn't hear someone approaching.

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

I'm exhausted from work stuff (PSA: if anyone asks you to move 3000 artifacts in a month, Just Say No) and now I have to get ready for a 10 day trip on 2 days notice, which includes driving 15 hours each way, to go to the funeral of a woman I don't know. And she was my partner's grandmother, so on top of the expected grief he's dealing with the guilt of not having visited her for several years before now. Plus i Don't Care For his mom and I haven't heard great things about his grandfather (there's a reason we kept putting off visiting...) and the whole thing is going to be deeply stressful.

And I'm just already so tired.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @greypetrel💗! Tagging in turn @dungeons-and-dragon-age @daggerbean @ndostairlyrium and @inquisimer no pressure as always c: I've largely been working on a BG3 backstory things now that I've finally finished the game, but here is a bit more of the Hawke in the Fade fic. Here, Hawke's friends have gathered for a sort of last farewell. It's brutal, but I had a lot of fun writing Carver and Fenris in this scene. Their dynamic is working out to be a lot of the backbone of this fic so far and I'm really enjoying seeing where that goes.

“Decided to show up after all?” he asked. 

Fenris stopped just inside Carver’s field of vision. Carver didn’t bother to straighten up. 

“Didn’t have something more important to do?” he went on, abruptly seething. 

He thought of the letters he’d received these past months. M had gone from her usual mischievous self to an increasingly brittle version, as if the effort to keep up the facade had started to strain her, and then…

Sometimes, I wonder if there really is a curse on our family, she’d said in that last letter. It doesn’t seem fair, does it? I swear to you that I am doing everything that I can, but it feels rather like one of those nightmares where you’re running and running and your feet never move. 

Carver, if anything happens to me—I have no right to ask it, but will you please look after Fenris? I don’t know what he’ll do if I’m hurt, and you have a more level head these days. I can’t help but feel like something is going to happen, like those last days in Kirkwall before the end. It looms over me. 

Tell Aveline I’ll see you both soon, alright? she’d said. 

I don’t want either of you to worry, she’d said. 

Well. Carver was feeling plenty of things, but he couldn’t say that worry was one of them. 

“Didn’t feel like taking any more trips across Thedas?” he went on, because fuck him, because he’d said he would be there for her and he’d lied, because Carver wanted Fenris to hurt like he was hurting and he—

He was just standing there. Looking at Carver, as if he’d never seen him before and wasn’t enjoying the experience now.

“What, nothing to say?” Carver snarled, straightening at last. “You aren’t even going to pretend you gave a shit about her?”

“Carver, please—” Sebastian began from inside the house, but it was too late. Fenris had shifted into a slightly different stance, one Carver recognized at once, and his rage turned to a sick sort of relief. At last, this—this was something he knew. Grieving M was wrong, was foreign and unwelcome, but this? 

This was something he understood very well. 

“Say that again,” Fenris said in a low, rough voice. 

Carver spread his hands, Warden armor winking in the dim light through the clouds. What a relief it was to be angry. What a relief it would be to punch the bastard right in the chin. 

“You fucked her and ran away once,” he said. “Don’t know why she was surprised when you did it again.”

He barely managed to finish the last word before the elf was on him, a fist driving into the unshielded space at his ribs. Carver managed himself well enough in turn, he thought. He threw a punch at Fenris’s jaw and kneed him hard in the gut before he was unbalanced enough to fall to the mud and muck below. Perhaps Fenris would have kicked him then; perhaps he would have fallen upon him with fists and elbows. Neither of them had a chance to find out, because Varric was abruptly there. 

Maker, but he looked a decade older than he had when Carver’d last seen him. 

“Stop this,” he said. Carver turned his head and spat blood onto the earth beside him. 

It was still drizzling. The rain fell quickly enough that it blended with the blood until it all looked like nothing at all. 

When he looked up again, Fenris stood some two feet away, hands loose and bloodied. He didn’t look angry. He looked…

“You look like her,” Fenris said, his voice ragged. 

“Piss off,” Carver said, and—as if he hadn’t been hearing the same cursed thing his whole life—tears stung his eyes. 

Fuck that. He wasn’t going to cry over her. M wouldn’t have wanted that. Instead, he scrubbed his hand over his face and levered himself to his feet. Varric tucked the hand he’d offered away again and sighed. 

“Let’s get on with things,” he said. 

What else could they do? Just what he’d done after Bethany and Father and Mother. Exactly what he’d done after losing half the Wardens he’d ever known to some fool’s errand in the desert. 

Get on with it. 

[galaxofmuses]

// I want to infodump this before I forget to.

Gilly's family decided to go on a vacation and they we're invited included their partner. Of course it was the not so sunny Spain and their mother always find a shortcut to make their vacation more convenient for herself then to care about others and decided to take her family to a small village to experience the sights and company. At least Gilly has their cd player and Henry to keep them company. Gilly was regretting this choice to take a vacation right before their first semester of College. It was suppose to ease their mind right?

Unfortunately the rental van broke down as they went across the bridge and the next thing they know is Gilly get knocked out by something and wakes up in a shack gagged up and tied. They can hear voices and as the side door bursts open and the villagers threw an unfortunate sight. It was Henry's body that is nearly decapitated this made them scream through the thick cloth. But the men didn't care and all laughed at the pathetic sight. Gilly had to do something....anything. Knowing that their cd player and defense weapons are stripped away. They tried to look around but to see more corpses that seem to be barely fresh. Gilly felt sick to their stomach and god knows what they are going to plan first. Then the front door opens and within seconds all they can see is smoke and gunfire that made them flinch. As a minute or two passed by and now to see that the villagers are no more and now standing is....well a rather handsome man and looking quite stern, but now turned soft for a bit as he goes to bend over to take out the gag.

Words couldn't come out of their mouth and all they can do is to sob and muttering that their family is dead. In such a strange sight that the stranger has a sense of relief as if something was bothering him. "Y-You....Gonna hurt me?"

Shakes his head. "Not a chance....Here let me help you." He breaks the ropes that are tied from their feet and wrists. He goes to check them out, but it leaves the other more questions.

"Ummm....Why are you? Checking me out like that?" the person seems to be worried if there truly is something wrong.

The agent shakes his head. "Nah just...want to make sure...did they inject you with anything? How do you feel?"

Such strange questions to ask from someone who save them, but now he has got a point since they have been out for most of the day. But now they are checking themselves out, but yet the burns from the scratchy ropes still linger. They shake their head. "N...No...I feel normal."

He let's out a huff since he wasn't even sure yet, he noticed on the side of their neck has some strange marks that seems too personal to ask. But as long as there is no coughing up blood then he's fine. "Well...You might have to stick with me for the time being. Name's Leon."

"....Gilly Livingston. It's nice to meet you." From this point they don't even know if they are infected or not, but Gilly is glad they are not alone. "Ah. I gotta find my stuff..." Looking over across the table which seems like their pepper spray, tactical pen, a swiss army knife and knuckle dusters are not disposed. They gladly took the items and turns to Leon and feeling a tad chipper. "Alright...I think I'm ready."

Leon nods and is quite glad that this person is at least somehow can defend themselves. "Alright. Let's go."

[fiendfriend]

My uncle, who I have lived with since I was a single digit age, died in late July. He was in his bedroom, and his death was more or less completely unexpected.

We’ve had family and friends of family stopping by the house consistently ever since, offering condolences and saying how tragic and how sad it all is. Every single time one of them says to me that it must be so hard, all I can think about is

being 10 and crying uncontrollably because he was screaming and threatening people and my mom told me to go into the laundry room with the dog and lock the door and not open it until she says,

or being 13 and him screaming at me and berating me in front of friends I brought home from school about how disrespectful and rude I was being for saying that Josh and Robert and Garrett already asked if it was okay for us to go use the pool so we don’t have to call their parents and ask,

or being 15 and getting slurs and violence screamed at me and being called a freak and a “halfbreed” and a “mongrel” for not apparently performing gender or whiteness correctly,

or being 17 and him screaming and punching holes in walls,

or being 20 and him saying he might as well kill his dog in a graphic manner if people are going to get on his ass about never walking him or buying food or taking him to the vet even once,

or being 24 and having to block him with my arm from getting up at my mother,

or being 27 and having the neighbor calling the cops and the responding officers checking me for bruises,

or being 28 and having him following me out of the house after stabbing holes in one of the bedroom doors to show me that he cut his arm open, and the cops then forcing us all out of our home and forming a barrier out front while stating his full name and telling him to come outside over megaphone in front of every person within hearing distance,

or being 29 and having to ignore the urge to tell people telling me how sad and tragic it all is that I’m just upset he died in his sleep because then he would have been able to feel it when he had the heart attack that finally got him taken out of my goddamn house.

[astrayan]

I remember what death tasted like. Or at least I thought I did.

I lost Vinícius, it was tragic. He was my childhood friend, playing Sherlock and Watson with a .99 cent magnifying glass my mom bought for us. He’s gone, and I’ll never listen to the sound of his violin again.

But now it’s closer. Now it’s family. I thought I knew what death tasted like when I lost Vini, but nothing compares to the pain I feel now, slowly losing my godfather.

Please, whoever or whatever higher being there is in this world. It’s okay for him to go. We are sticking together like superglue to support one another when the day comes. We are grieving, yes, but we are prepared. He can go.

Just let him go without any pain. Please.

[earlydew]

family death cw //

update. i lost the most important person in my life earlier this week and i spent the last few days with my family, grieving and mourning the loss with them. it's all still very new and hard and real, but i think, i'm actually ready to face things fully and try to move forward ?? do things that give me joy and make me feel full without feeling so terribly guilty about it. i feel like that's what my mom would want anyway <3

this is to say i'm planning on easing my way back into writing here again and would love some new stuff! i will still be attempting to make a dent in everything i owe, but i think i need some new stuff to gain some momentum ?? nothing too distracting that takes my mind completely off off the things that have been going on irl, but i'm down for some light plotting, hc or just winging stuff!

so please send in memes, reply to my opens or like my permanent starter call if you'd like especially if we currently don't have anything going bc i'm thinking of doing another cleaning spree soon! ( also please softblock if you don't intend to interact. i promise there'll be no hard feelings, but staying mutuals w people who've never shown interest to interact ic or ooc makes me feel super anxious and makes me not wanna be here )

that is all! i'll work on the memes sitting in my inbox after i shower

[meatriarchived2]

we just got a call literally minutes ago that my maternal grandmother passed within this last hour. and theres. alot of very complicated feelings that i have surrounding her and all the ab.usive shit shes done throughout our lives.

so im putting out a gentle warning that i dont know how my activity will look for the time being.

nothings really hit me yet but i just know ive got alot of shit to process so. whether i suddenly go silent here or i post even more ive no clue at the moment.

[mindsmade]

been playing l.ife is str.ange: tr.ue col.ours and i am loving it but when you by keat.on hen.son suddenly started playing during that scene by the docks bt alex and charlotte ... boy ...... did that cut deep out 😭

[madeimpact]

I'll probably be on semi hiatus to full hiatus for a while

I lost my mom to a stroke. So I'm really not feeling up to a lot of stuff, plus I'm gonna have to step up and be a functional, salary-having adult now bc she was the main breadwinner in our family.

I'm not sure what to say. I've been crying for a good 24 hours probably on and off. There were no warning signs outside of the usual headaches she got. She was on medication. No one could have seen it coming. She was decorating for Christmas when she started having symptoms.

I'm very close with my parents and she's probably my biggest role model. I'm trying to be strong, but I'm going to need time to figure out what to do with myself and my life.

Kudos if you read this far, and thanks. I'll make it out of this and be back to writing soon. Maybe sooner than I think. I'll probably need a creative outlet while we arrange for services and such.

[vocesincaput]

OPEN STARTER: Caleb Brewster

When the boats had reached the other shore and a suitable place for camp had been found after a few hours (not wanting to be too close to Setauket), Caleb silently set up his own tent before carrying his Uncle's body inside and laying it down upon the coat that had been put inside.

He knew he should bury him. But his Uncle deserved a proper burial in his home of Setauket. Something he was never going to be able to get. Something he had been robbed off at the hands of Simcoe and those that had accused him of what they had. A man who couldn't harm anyone. Murdered at the hands of somehow that Caleb didn't think he could stop himself from killing if he were to see him again. If he saw Simcoe again... he couldn't be held responsible for what he would do.

Caleb didn't know how long he had been sat in the tent, not even looking at his Uncles body any more but almost through it. Lost to the world around him. Replaying the sight of his Uncle being murdered and not being allowed to do anything about it over and over in his mind.

If someone had walked in the tent to check on him at any point, Caleb hadn't noticed them. He wouldn't notice if someone were in there with him at that moment.

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

It's been days and I'm still floored by the extreme pettiness of future MIL taking all the photos off her newly dead mom's fridge except pictures of her own child (i.e. my partner). She said it's because Partner is the only one who ever called the grandparents, which is possibly true, but even still.

No wonder none of the other grandkids wanted to come visit. You've made it very clear that they're not welcome.