#grief -
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coffeeacademia · 2 days ago
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being alive is like,, being so full of love and so full of loss at the same time. a lot to carry around either way.
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marzipanandminutiae · 3 days ago
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the place I used to live, where the fire happened, sold for $1.2 million in October. I just found out online
they renovated it entirely- very stark, very white. very modern. I can't be mad about this; the fire made the interior completely unsalvageable, and anyway, it had burned ten years before this last time. so it was hardly All-Original when I lived there
they changed the layout. I can't place the location of my room, even though the windows are in the same spots. I can be mad about this, but I'm not. I am unaccountably sad
sometimes everything I've bought and made and been gifted and built since then, all the replacements, even through they're the work of my hands or the love of friends and family made real- feel fake. feel rushed and hastily cobbled together. I suppose it's because they're, at most, two years old in my life. in the old place, some things had been with me decades or more
where I live now is older, more ornate. beautiful. full of people who think well of me. it's a good place, it really is. I've rebuilt in so many ways
I wonder if the ghost of Me Before This keeps the millionaires up at night, walking through walls down a hallway that no longer exists. too much a creature of sea-green paint and rattling old doorknobs to fit in their ice-white luxury. I'm not sure she'll ever come back to me- acting out a normal evening return that never was, over and over again. finishing that day as I never got to
I hope they're nice. I hope they have better decorating taste than whoever staged those photos
grief, when it's deferred by the urgency of a survival checklist, bursts out at odd times and places
it was not home. not meant to be. I try to remind myself of that
I want to go home
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thepeacefulgarden · 2 days ago
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liltalle · 2 days ago
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Just to be clear, I don't want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there better be a thousand separate heavens for all my flying parts.
- Andrea Gibson, Take Me With You
Sometimes it hits me that there’s just no way to avoid the pain of the ending of relationships. I have tried and failed to just not make connections with the people around me. I’ve experienced, according to my therapist and Google statistics, more than the average amount of deaths-of-close-loved-ones, abuse, shunning, and whatnot. Makes sense. But sometimes I look at new friends, old friends, potential futures, and all I can see is me sitting on my bathroom floor the night after my fiancé died, feeling so much pain I didn’t know if I would ever come out the other side of it at all. And I think, “that’s the price of this. That’s what you know this will end in, and you chose it anyway.” And as inspiring as that is (like: testament to the power of love that I’d choose it even when it’s so painful), it’s also just exhausting. Like, I’ve been through the funerals, and the angry goodbyes, and the email goodbyes, and the crying at the airport, and the sort-of-happy-crying over new babies and marriages, and the last outings with close friends before moving away, and the last Sundays before leaving churches, and the thought of doing it all again, worth it or not, is exhausting. It’s just exhausting. Like how grandparents just aren’t able to raise babies because they’ve already done it and they’re old and retired and tired now. That’s how I feel. I’m tired.
And yet
If I bump into your cart at the supermarket, I’m going to laugh and apologize and tell you I like your sweater and if you’re friendly and not on a tight schedule that day you might smile and strike up a conversation, and we might share a love of some item in both of our baskets and I’ll offer you a recipe that uses it and then two years later I’m texting you to see if you want to meet up for coffee at our usual spot and at that point I care about you and you care about me and we’re friends and if you tell me you have terminal cancer I’ll be fucking devastated.
There’s no way to avoid these things. There’s no way to meet a quota. As long as I’m alive, my heart is always at risk of shattering into a billion tiny aching pieces from one phone call, one conversation, one funeral. I love the ones I love now, and I choose love in my life. And I’m tired.
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adventuresofalgy · 1 day ago
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It was another frosty morning, with a brisk northerly wind, and although the clouds swept over the sky at fairly frequent intervals, sometimes dropping a light dusting of tiny particles of snow and ice as they passed, there were some beautifully bright moments in between, which lit up the landscape for a short time.
Algy found himself a soft perch and gazed out at the long, dark shadows stretching all the way across the neighbouring croft. They seemed to be pointing at the illuminated snow-capped mountains of the Isle of Rum in the distance, and the enchanting view reminded him of some lines in a beautiful old song – a VERY old song – and he hummed quietly to himself "Look how the snowy mountains, Heaven’s sun doth gently waste".
Algy reflected that although the northern winter could certainly be beautiful to look at, it was also harsh, especially for the elderly and infirm, and he knew that some of his friends were mourning the loss of dear relatives and friends, for there are many who pass when temperatures fall and the sun sinks low in the sky.
So Algy dedicates this post and this beautiful early English Air especially to those friends who have lost loved ones and are thinking of them now:
Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven’s sun doth gently waste. But my sun’s heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lie sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets. Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at even he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes, Melt not in weeping While she lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping.
[Algy is singing Weep you no more, sad fountains from The Third and Last Booke of Songs or Aires. Composed to sing to the Lute by the late 16th/early 17th century English composer and lutenist John Dowland.]
And for those who enjoy early music and would like to hear this beautiful song in a roughly authentic version, here is a lovely performance by Paul Agnew and Christopher Wilson:
youtube
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ex3cvt1on · 3 days ago
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pls don't ever show me any drugs anymore because I'm gonna eat them all i swear i love drugs i love random medicines
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aceofwhump · 3 days ago
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Heroes 1x19 ".07%"
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pinklotushere · 24 hours ago
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"And I'm trying to be sane."
- Welcome and goodbye Song by Dream, Ivory
---
The Wayne Manor study was cold, despite the fire burning in the hearth. Bruce stood by the window, staring out at the snow-dusted gardens. Dick stormed in, his anger palpable, the door slamming shut behind him.
“You think this interview is going to fix anything?” Dick snapped, his voice sharp and accusatory.
Bruce didn’t turn around. “It’s not about fixing things. It’s about giving Jason the respect he deserves.”
Dick scoffed, pacing. “Respect? You want to give him respect now? After putting him in a position that got him killed?”
Bruce’s shoulders stiffened, but he remained silent.
Dick’s anger boiled over. “You made him pick up that mantle, Bruce! You let him get involved in your war, and it got him killed! He wasn’t ready for any of it. He was just trying to live up to your impossible standards.”
“I didn’t make him do anything,” Bruce said quietly, still not turning to face Dick. “Jason made his own decisions.”
Dick slammed his fist on the desk. “Don’t do that! Don’t act like this is some noble tragedy where Jason’s choices were all his own. He was a kid. A stubborn, angry, reckless kid who wanted nothing more than to prove himself to you. And you let him!”
Bruce finally turned, his face lined with exhaustion and guilt. “You think I don’t blame myself? Every decision I made, every moment I wasn’t there to stop it—I think about it constantly. I failed him, Dick. I know that."
Dick’s voice dropped, the anger giving way to raw pain. “You didn’t just fail him, Bruce. You failed me.”
The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Bruce’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
“I trusted you to protect him,” Dick continued, his voice shaking. “I thought you learned from everything we went through. But you made the same mistakes. And now Jason’s gone because of it.”
Bruce turned back to the window, his voice barely audible. “I thought I could save him. I thought I was giving him a better life.”
Dick took a step back, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “Well, you didn’t. And now you’re dragging yourself in front of Gotham to pretend like this will make things better. But it won’t. Nothing will.”
Bruce didn’t respond. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Finally, Dick turned and walked out, leaving Bruce alone with his guilt.
---
The studio was unnaturally quiet as Bruce sat across from the reporter. The lights were harsh, casting deep shadows on his face.
“Mr. Wayne,” the reporter began, her voice gentle, “the loss of Jason Todd has left Gotham in mourning. How are you handling this tragedy?”
Bruce took a long pause before answering, his voice low and measured. “Jason was… a son to me. Losing him is the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. There are no words for that kind of pain.”
The reporter nodded sympathetically. “Can you tell us about Jason? What was he like?"
Bruce’s lips twitched into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Jason was…complicated. He was stubborn, always pushing boundaries, always asking questions. But that’s what made him special. He never accepted things as they were—he always wanted to make them better. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and a fierce determination to prove himself.”
Jason, grinning as he leaned against the Batmobile, grease smudged on his face. “Told you I could fix it faster than Alfred,” he’d said with that cocky smirk.
Bruce blinked, pushing the memory away. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was good. And he deserved more than what he got.”
The reporter’s tone turned cautious. “There’s been speculation that Jason’s proximity to you and your high-profile life may have contributed to his death. How do you respond to that?”
Bruce’s expression hardened. “Jason came into my life because I wanted to give him a chance—a real chance at a future. He deserved to feel safe, to have opportunities he’d never had before. If people want to blame someone for what happened, they can blame me. I made the choices that put him in harm’s way. And I’ll carry that responsibility for the rest of my life.”
The reporter’s voice softened. “What do you want Gotham to remember about Jason?”
Bruce’s voice faltered, his face blank. “Jason was… just a kid. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried. He deserved to grow up, to figure out who he wanted to be. I want people to remember that he mattered. That he was loved.”
"If there was something you'd say to jason now, what would it be?"
“There was a life before you, Jason,” he said aloud, his voice quiet and hoarse. “And then there was life with you. But for some reason, I never thought there would be an after you.”
He closed his eyes, the weight of those words pressing down on him. “But here it is. And I’m in it. I’ll be in it forever. I dont know how I'll go from here on”
"I'm sure he'd want you to move on" the interviewer smiled gently
Jason, standing in the kitchen, grinning triumphantly as he held up a burnt lasagna. “Alfred said I couldn’t cook. Joke’s on him—it’s technically edible!"
Bruce’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “He had this way of… making you believe anything was possible, even when you knew better. He made the world feel bigger somehow.”
---
Dick Grayson sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped tightly. The grief in his expression was raw and unfiltered.
“Thank you for being here, Dick,” the reporter began. “Jason Todd’s death has been a tragedy felt across Gotham. How are you coping?”
Dick exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I’m not. Jason wasn’t just some kid I knew—he was my brother. Losing him feels like… like losing a part of myself.”
The reporter nodded. “What was your relationship like with Jason?”
A faint smile flickered across Dick’s face, tinged with sadness. “It was complicated. We argued a lot. He was stubborn, always trying to prove himself. But that’s what made him… Jason. He didn’t back down, even when he probably should have. He cared about people, even if he didn’t always show it. He had so much potential.”
Jason, laughing as he raced him across the rooftops. “Come on, dickhead, keep up!” he’d shouted, his voice full of that youthful arrogance.
Dick’s smile faded. “But he never got the chance to figure it all out.”
“What do you want people to remember about Jason?”
Dick’s voice softened, his eyes glistened “Jason was just a kid trying to find his place in the world. He deserved so much more than what he got. I want people to remember that he mattered. That he was loved.”
The reporter asked, “What would you say to Jason now if you could?”
Dick’s voice cracked, his composure slipping. “I’d tell him I’m sorry. That I was too hard on him. That I didn’t mean half the things I said. And that… I loved him. I really did.”
Jason tackling him during a training session, both of them laughing as they tumbled to the ground. “Not bad for the new guy, huh?” Jason had teased, his grin infectious.
“Not bad,” Dick had admitted, ruffling his hair.
---
Dick found Bruce waiting outside the studio, leaning against the car. The two stared at each other for a long moment.
“You heard it all, didn’t you?” Dick sighed
Bruce nodded. “You did good.”
Dick’s anger flared again. “Don’t patronize me, Bruce. I’m not doing this for you.”
Bruce’s expression darkened. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Dick stepped closer, his voice rising. “Because sometimes, it feels like all of this is still about you. Your guilt. Your pain. Meanwhile, Jason’s the one who’s gone. And we’re the ones left trying to make sense of it.”
Bruce looked away, his voice quiet. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”
Dick shook his head, the anger giving way to exhaustion. “Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before putting Jason in the crossfire.”
The two stood in silence before Dick finally turned to walk away. “I hope you figure it out, Bruce. For his sake.”
--
Dick sat alone in his apartment, His hands trembled as he stared at an old photograph of Jason. It was from one of Alfred’s rare attempts to capture the family at peace—Jason mid-laugh, trying to swat away Dick’s hand, messing with his hair.
"I should have picked up the damn phone"
He clenched the photo tighter, the edges biting into his palm.
They’d been in the Batcave, the tension between them boiling over after another mission. Jason leaned against the Batcomputer, arms crossed, his expression defiant.
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” Jason snapped. “Just because you were the first. Golden Boy Grayson.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp. “You don’t listen, Jason. You charge in without thinking, and one day, it’s going to get you killed.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Right, because you never made mistakes. Spare me the lecture.”
Dick’s temper flared. “This isn’t about me! I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot!”
Jason smirked, his usual defiance masking the hurt in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Dick. I’ll make sure not to ruin your perfect record.”
He'd stormed out, leaving Dick standing there, fists clenched.
Dick’s hand trembled as he brought the photo closer. “I should’ve apologized. I should’ve told you that I didn’t mean it, that I was just scared for you. But now… now I’ll never get the chance.”
He swallowed hard, tears streaking down his face. “You weren’t supposed to go, Jay. I wasn’t ready to lose you. Not like this.”
---
Headline the next week:
"Wayne’s Tragic Loss: ‘I Never Thought There Would Be an After’ – Bruce Speaks Out About Jason’s Death"
"Grayson Breaks Silence: ‘I Was Too Hard on Jason’ – A Brother’s Regret Revealed"
"Gotham’s Darkest Hour: Dick Grayson Reveals Guilt Over Jason’s Death"
"Jason Todd’s Tragic End: Wayne and Grayson Speak About the Boy Who Didn’t Make It"
"The Aftermath of a Tragedy: Grayson and Wayne Face the Public After Jason’s Death"
@BatFan25
"Damn. Bruce Wayne just admitted he never thought there’d be an ‘after’ Jason. That hit hard. #WayneFamily #JasonTodd"
@Nightwing_13
"Dick Grayson saying he was too hard on him? Man, I felt that, I'm mean to my little brother all the time, too. You can see the guilt in his eyes. #RIPJasonTodd #GraysonRegrets"
@GothamWatcher
"Anyone else feel like Bruce Wayne is still carrying the weight of this? His words about Jason... so heavy. #WayneFamily #GothamGrief"
@MissMysterious
"Honestly, watching Dick Grayson break down about Jason... I can’t handle it. He loved him so much, even when they fought. #GraysonFamily #JasonTodd"
@WonerwomanFangirl
"The way Bruce talked about Jason... like he’s still trying to process it. But I get it. Jason was his son. 😔 #WayneFamily #RIPJasonTodd"
@GothamKnight48"
Dick Grayson: 'But he never got the chance to figure it all out.' Jejxysgej my babies nooo #RIPJasonTodd #GraysonFamily"
@crimsoncider
"I honestly feel for Bruce. The man lost a kid he raised. People forget that part sometimes. #WayneFamily #JasonTodd"
@TheRealrobin
"Bruce saying he never thought there’d be an after Jason... I mean, who does? Losing a son? That’s the kind of pain you can’t just get over. #Grief"
@GothamViews
"It was hard to watch Dick talk about Jason. I think he always blamed himself a little. But at least he was honest. #Family"
@just_a_lonely_bat
"Bruce and Dick going these interviews about Jason... makes you realize they’re just human, too. So much pain behind those winning smiles of theirs. #WayneFamily"
Pls don't track down my house
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thatoldbooksmellsstuff · 1 day ago
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Apollo Aktios about Perse Athenide
inspired by @anotheroceanid's The Third Gift au/ her Athenide AU
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thatsmyphrase · 22 hours ago
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Scenes from: I Saw an Angel in the Marble by Thatsmyphrase
"In another life, we could have been happy."
"In this life, we were happy."
I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free. -Michelangelo
STORY DEALS WITH GRIEF.
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sapphic-terror · 33 minutes ago
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Insert incoherent screaming
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this test of the mountain
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vwalker-poet-author · 2 days ago
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oldschool-romantic · 2 hours ago
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crazycatsiren · 3 days ago
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So I did the logical thing. I took a shower. As much as it costs spoons, a shower can usually clear my head a little, and some of my most perspective shifting thinking was done in the shower.
So there I was, turning under the shower head like a rotisserie chicken, and caught myself with, "wait a minute, hold the phone, I'm still grieving, aren't I?"
Because grandma died at the end of September. It's only been, I had to think about this for a second, 3 months.
And so here I was, lathering up a soap bar, saying to myself: homie, this why you're "off" and lashing out. This why you're being all kinds of impulsive and irrational. Your therapist has even said it, it's what grief does to people. It makes us feel like we've lost our minds. It makes us not ourselves. It makes us feel like we've gone crazy and it makes us do crazy things. Bro, remind me, how many times have we seen phrases like "mad with grief" in books written by authors stretching across millenia. You're still being like this, because you're still grieving a loss that sent you to hell and you had to look the devil in the eyes to get back. Bro, like, fuck, it be this.
And now I'm sitting here on my bed like, I'm glad I took that shower.
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thedreadfuldawn · 5 hours ago
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"vengeance is sworn", francesco hayez \\ "cleopatra" john william waterhouse \\ "the hesitant fiancée", auguste toulmouche \\ "the lunatic of étretat", hugues merle \\ "ghismonda with the heart of guiscardo", bernardino mei
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