#reminiscent grieving

[july-19th-club]

i brought him over with me, you know. we sailed together under avery when we was kids. he was my first bunkmate. and for years, he went on how he'd got this huge stash, hidden away. and i should live to survive him, because one day, i will be a rich man. but as you know...we lost him on the pembroke. so i open his locker and what do i find? twelve pesos. a busted pocket watch. and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in new york. lying sack of shit! was mister craig. so: i bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two weeks that winter in new york trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. looked high and low. never found her. so on the way home, i waited until we were in open water and i could see no land in any direction. and i dropped it over the side. returned to the sea...there are no legacies in this life, are there? no monuments. no...history. just the water. it pays us, and then it claims us. swallows us whole. if you EVEN care

[askblueandviolet]

You still think it's not your fault?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙

Previous 💙

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[insectduck]

My niche Keith Kogane headcanon is that "Thief" by Imagine Dragons from the Smoke + Mirrors (Deluxe) album is HIS song, no if ands or buts, it just screams mullet emo 'delinquent' in the desert bonus with space motifs. If you told me it was written by the angsty fuck himself I'd totally believe you lmao

[djbeatz]

Chuuya and Guitars (Stormbringer Spoilers(?))

Chuuya headcanons my friends~

Chuuya really likes to play the guitar, he likes how it sounds from the gentle rumbles to the smooth riffs. Contrary to popular belief, he likes most of all to play gentle melodies on the guitar, the types that soothe his soul in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

But he only really feels like playing the guitar when he’s at the beach, strangely enough. There was something relaxing about sitting on a big rock by the water, enjoying a gentle breeze as a slow and calming song is played on the guitar. It’s one of the easiest ways for him to relax and the fastest as he isn’t the kind of person who relaxes often nor easily.

(Manga Spoiler below the cut)

Before the flags died, once every two weeks they would all find some time to go to the beach, Chuuya would be playing his guitar while the rest either relaxed or messed around. Of course, he’d join them too, but most times, he was happy to just sit around and play.

Doc and Iceman were the ones who usually sat around to listen. Albatross would drag Lippman into playing volleyball or play in the water with him and Pianoman would go either way depending on his mood.

There was always one specific beach that they went to where the waves were a bit bigger than normal and the sand was white; they’d set up an umbrella, chairs, towels and Lippman and Chuuya would bring food that they made in baskets, Albatross would bring a ball, frisbee and a swan floatie that they all tried to fit on once before. Iceman would bring the alcohol and other drinks in a cooler, Doc would bring glasses for those drinks. Pianoman would play music on the rare occassions that Chuuya wasn’t playing his guitar and he’d be the one taking pictures of them, mostly for Lippman who liked to take pictures of these moments but often forgot to as he’d get distracted.

After their death, in honor of them Chuuya did not stop going to that beach. He goes there once every two weeks and play his guitar, he’d set up the chairs, umbrella and towels like they always did, he’d bring a ball sometimes to bounce around with his ability, he’d bring a frisbee to toss around, hell he got a floatie to float around in. Chuuya got that same cooler, that same alcohol and other beverages to place in it and he’d pour himself a glass of wine that floated at his side; he made sandwiches and a fruit salad to eat. and he’d play the guitar.

He played his favorite songs and sit there for hours on that rock, the scene he lived many times before recreated for himself, alone and lonely. He’d play a few songs and then played some more, all the way until the sun began to set, then he’d pack up his things and leave and wait for the next two weeks to pass so he can do it all again.

This wasn’t a private beach by any means so more often than not, children would come running, asking if they could use his toys or listen to him play the guitar. He didn’t mind any of it, it reminded him of the days when that scene was livelier. When he didn’t feel as though he had been robbed of his most prized possessions, the bond he had made with them.

There were times when fellow mafioso would stumble upon him at that beach. He never said anything, and they’d never say anything either. Most times he was left alone, in fear of what he’d do to them if they interrupted. Other times, there was something of a silent understanding that as long as you did not lose or break anything of his than he did not care what you did or what you are there for.

Some people he knew very well would find him. Akutagawa, Gin, Tachihara, Hirotsu, Higuchi; they’ve all seen him and spent time with him, either playing with the toys or listening to the vibrato of his string instrument. He’s been caught by the agency and while there was some alarm there, Chuuya never did anything to them, he honored his friends’ deaths so he would honor this routine and it didn’t take long for the Agency to realize he meant no harm and even there, there was a mutual understanding that in that time, they would not fight.

No one really knew why he did all this. Only Ranpo and Dazai managed to guess why. For Ranpo, this gained Chuuya a level of respect from the older. It went unsaid and mostly ignored between the two that Ranpo knew everything. It wasn’t like he had any use for the information anyway.

Dazai had mixed feelings about it. In the past, he would have teased Chuuya for it, made a lot of noise, insult his playing and distract him just to piss him off, but as someone who knew what it was like to grieve and grieve for years over someone dear, he understood the feeling as even to this day, he routinely visited Bar Lupin and ordered a whiskey on the rocks, the last drink he had with Odasaku. It was an understanding that they both acknowledged and said nothing about.

He’d always grieve the death of the Flags; but he refused to let it consume his life so at the same that this was an honor to them, it was a release for him, so that he could remember to let go of the pain in his chest. He’d never truly get over it, but he knew how to manage it.

And if Adam ever visited him, just for a day. Then he told no one.

----------------------

Wow, okay that was supposed to be a headcanon but I went off, whoops-

Enjoy?

[sail-away-to-space]

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

-GSnow (Reddit comment)

[pinkhairandpokemon]

Man, I miss my team. From Hisui, I mean.

Have I talked about Hugo yet? He was an alpha Bibarel, so he was like, HUGE. As big as a small bed give or take. He’d hog my futon all the time but he was adorable so it was fine.

I wish I still had all those photos I got taken of him and my other ‘mons, but the only one I managed to hold onto was that one of Ignis. There was one of my entire team I had hung up in my quarters- I wonder if it’s still out there somewhere. If it is I hope it’s still in tact… I’d like to see their faces again. Even if it’s just in photograph form.

[fexicoded]

+

[roleplaycharacter1shots]

the end of an era

Warning(s): Loss of parents, grief

Word Count: 1235

Character(s): Damian Green

Summary: Damian returns to his parents’ home after his father passes away. Takes place in 1996.

Using the following prompts by @creativepromptsforwriting:

Prompt #112: use the words sigil, secret, and sorrow

Prompt #84: use the words orange, spices, and sweetness

Prompt #269: There is a common saying about the calm before the storm. But no one ever talks about the deafening silence after the storm hit.

Permission to reblog, @creativepromptfills.

---

For the first time in a while, Damian had a weekend off. He was certainly grateful for it, but now it meant he had some free time to finish cleaning out his parents’ house. It was not a task he had been looking forward to in the weeks following his father’s passing. However, it needed to be done in order for the house to be sold. And Damian knew he would regret it if he did that without giving the place at least one last look over.

To Damian’s relief, Colton Green had passed fairly peacefully. He knew that his father’s heart had shattered upon the loss of his wife the year before, so he was at the very least happy to think that the two of them were at last in each other’s arms again. The funeral for his now late father had taken place a week ago, but sometimes it still felt like just yesterday. Going through his death and the necessary goodbyes had been hard and tumultuous, filling Damian with a range of emotions. And sorrow was somehow only one of those many feelings. Losing one parent had been hard enough, especially with the reign of terror currently going on in Europe, but having another go not very long after made Damian’s whole life feel like just one devastating gale. So he permitted his work as a fairly new Auror to shield him, working through the rain and sleet alike as best he could.

There is a common saying about the calm before the storm. But no one ever talks about the deafening silence after the storm hit. The creak of the front door opening was the only sound that echoed through the one-floor ranch house. Damian was used to being greeted by stillness at his own apartment, but hearing it here was eerie. It was no secret that this place would never be the same now that its previous inhabitants would no longer be returning, but the reality of it all was still harsh to accept. As he shut the door behind him, Damian took a moment to close his eyes.

Almost immediately, his mind went back in time to reminisce. Because his mother had been gone the longest, she was the first to appear. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at her son. While Maria Green had not returned to her Florida hometown in quite a few years, her skin remained just as sunkissed as it always had been. The smell of spices filled Damian’s nostrils, anise and cinnamon if he remembered correctly, as she moved to greet him. Her lack of physical presence was not lost on him, but he was comforted by the phantom scents. Maria’s mouth moved soundlessly as she appeared to call for his father, who was seated in the living room reading the paper. The scene was laid out like a typical Sunday morning, judging by how Colton set aside the large comic section instead of his usual stock market updates. Despite being retired, the old man still took the time to see how his investments were doing.

The visual faded away as Damian opened his eyes again. He savored the still lingering scents from the brief memory as he headed for the kitchen. There, his moment was interrupted by a different sweetness hanging in the air. Brow furrowing in both distaste and puzzlement, Damian wondered where the slightly soured smell was coming from. It didn’t take long for him to locate the bowl of untouched past-their-prime oranges on the countertop. Damian couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, despite the flies he waved away on approach. The fruit had clearly been untouched for some time, indicating that his father never had any intention of eating them. Therefore, Damian could see the orange being an obvious sigil of Colton’s love for his late wife.

He had heard often of the tale of how his parents had met. While on a business trip in Miami, Colton had decided to take a brief tour of an orange grove. There, he had become quickly entranced by the owner’s daughter. He did not impress the farmer with his New Yorker banker background, but Maria was just as smitten. In an almost fairytale-like fashion, the pair showed one another their different lifestyles: that of a southern belle and a Yankee city slicker. Damian’s mother was certainly more than just a simple farmgirl, running the numbers and a great portion of her family’s orange farm behind the scenes. And his father was not just a stiff white-collar worker, having no problem rolling up his sleeves and getting some dirt under his nails with cars and gardens alike.

Colton promised Maria the world, even if he didn’t have a single penny to his name. But her family never consented to their union, despite everything Damian’s father tried to do to please them. His mother was choosing someone outside of their class and culture, and the couple had no choice but to leave Florida and the orange trees behind. Colton started by taking Maria around the country, showing her all that he could just as he promised. Over the next few years, his parents traveled to each and every state. They would have gone further if Maria hadn’t discovered she was pregnant while they were visiting the Grand Canyon.

Growing up, Damian had heard most of the story from his parents, but some of the details could also be pieced together with help from their massive scrapbook collection. The books the pair had made of their journey were beautiful, and Damian made sure to collect them immediately after disposing of the rotting oranges. He took a seat on the couch with the multicolored stack of books beside him. While he knew his parents had been expecting him and his sister then, it was interesting to watch the pages skip from the Grand Canyon right into their wedding planning in Niagara Falls. Their honeymoon had been spent between New York and Canada, giving Colton and Maria a bit more time together before they welcomed Damian and his twin sister into the world.

Despite how the pregnancy itself had not been depicted, nearly every moment following the twins’ birth had been captured. Damian did not have any personal memories of the sister he had shared his mother’s womb with, as she had passed before taking her first breath, but his parents’ scrapbook allowed him to see the pair of them side-by-side. One would have thought she had died later on, she looked so serene in the photos. But out of all of the rest, his sister’s pictures were the only ones that did not move. Even after all these years and never having known her, Damian couldn’t help but feel the pain of yet another missing piece to his heart at the sight.

He shut the book, balancing it briefly in his palms. The sight of the cover blurred slightly as the tears came. The silence around him was stifling, somehow more overwhelming than constant noise. Damian had never felt so alone before, and this grief cut deeper than any physical blow he had ever received. And unlike a bruise, the hurt would take much longer to heal, if it would at all. He missed them all greatly, but all he could now was say goodbye and move forward with their memories.

[heart-of-the-party]

I bought the dote emote hehe

[p-ink-ink]

I saw your friends for the first time in years.

It was another funeral. It was hard to be there. It seems funerals are the only place old friends show up for each other now.

I spoke to Joey, he said that after your death, your old friend group fell apart.

They rarely see each other now. Three years without you and things are still so different. He wished it brought them all closer, I wished that too. It's the least we could do for you now.

Being around them yesterday only showed to me the depth of your absence. I remember being a little girl, always wanting to hang out with you and them. The "big kids" The "cool teenagers" You guys were everything I thought was cool. I was just the silly little sister back then.

But now I am around them. But you're not here. They're getting engaged now. They're settled in their full time jobs now. They're moving out of state now. They're hanging out together now, just like you'd be doing all the time as kids. And my heart breaks again to realize how much you missed in your twenty eight year life..

[summertime--butterflies]

I haven’t touched this blog in years and I don’t think I am emotionally prepared to skim through my 1d tags of memories

[rosemaryfemme]

i see it with the adult perspective of yeah okay that my feelings on this are based on a parasocial relationship but also it’s just like. this thing brought me joy and frankly still does and at one point the public persona of this individual did. even seeing tweets of his tonight while i’m deep diving made me cackle

[aria0fgold]

Been thinking bout caiowe and ngl no matter how I try to spin and shake them I don't think they fit at all with the vibes of Sirius' Heart so alas! My reign of angst terror has been put to a halt and ended with jokid.

[slayingfiction]

List of 400+ Dialogue Tags

Below is a full (but not exhaustive) and updated list of dialogue tags. Dialogue tags are a widely debated topic for writers, some saying you should only use said, others arguing the opposite. You will get no opinion for me—only a list to use as you wish :D

Some words may differ in categories based on context.

Expressing Agreement or Confirmation

Acknowledged, Admitted, Affirmed, Agreed, Apologized, Confirmed, Conceded, Gibed, Professed, Reassured, Verified, Vouched

Initiating or Continuing Conversation

Added, Began, Chimed In, Commented, Continued, Conversed, Discussed, Elaborated, Greeted, Interjected, Offered, Proposed, Remarked, Went On

Making a Declaration or Announcement

Announced, Attested, Declared, Decreed, Emphasized, Enunciated, Proclaimed, Revealed, Stated, Voiced

Formal or Deliberate Communication

Chanted, Concurred, Observed, Postulated, Preached, Put Forth, Reasoned, Surmised, Testified

Indirect Communication 

Digressed, Hinted, Implied, Insinuated 

Providing Information, Explanation or Speculation

Alleged, Articulated, Asserted, Clarified, Doubted, Equivocated, Explained, Guessed, Imparted, Informed, Lectured, Noted, Predicted, Quoted, Recited, Reported, Theorized

Expressing Doubt or Uncertainty

Doubted, Faltered, Guessed, Hesitated, Pondered, Questioned, Speculated, Wondered, Ventured

Seeking or Giving Advice

Advised, Coaxed, Proposed, Recommended, Remonstrated, Suggested, Supposed, Urged

Animalistic

Barked, Croaked, Growled, Hissed, Hooted, Howled, Hummed, Roared, Snarled 

Expressing Discontent or Frustration

Complained, Fretted, Grumbled, Protested, Ranted

Demonstrating Authority or Command

Avowed, Commanded, Crowed, Decided, Demanded, Dictated, Directed, Insisted, Instructed, Maintained, Ordered, Pressed, Proclaimed, Reprimanded

Displaying Confidence or Assertiveness

Asserted, Assured, Boasted, Bragged, Claimed, Piped Up, Pledged, Spoke Up, Told, Vowed

Exhibiting Anger or Aggression

Accused, Bristled, Challenged, Cursed, Erupted, Exasperated, Fumed, Groaned, Huffed, Raged, Seethed, Snapped, Spat, Stormed, Swore, Threatened, Whinged

Displaying Sadness or Despair

Anguished, Bawled, Bemoaned, Blubbered, Cried, Despaired, Grieved, Lamented, Mourned, Sobbed, Wept, Whimpered, Worried

Persuasiveness 

Appealed, Begged, Cajoled, Convinced, Persuaded, Petitioned, Pleaded, Prayed

Conveying Fear or Worry

Cautioned, Entreated, Gasped, Quaked, Shuddered, Stressed, Trembled, Warned

Softly or Quietly

Breathed, Called, Crooned, Murmured, Mumbled, Muttered, Sighed, Whispered

Loudly or Forcefully

Bellowed, Boomed, Cried Out, Hollered, Screamed, Screeched, Shouted, Shrieked, Thundered, Wailed, Whooped, Yelled

Demonstrating Disgust or Disdain

Cringed, Gagged, Griped, Groused, Rasped, Scowled, Sneered, Snorted

Expressing Mockery, Disrespect or Sarcasm

Dared, Imitated, Insulted, Jeered, Mimicked, Mocked, Ribbed, Ridiculed, Scoffed, Snickered, Taunted 

Doing Annoyingly

Gloated, Goaded, Nagged, Pestered, Provoked, Sassed, Tattled

Emotional or Expressive Communication

Grunted, Mewled, Panted, Quavered, Sniffled, Snivelled, Squawked, Whined, Yowled

Showing Empathy or Comfort

Comforted, Consoled, Empathized, Soothed, Sympathized

Indicating Thoughtfulness or Reflection

Contemplated, Echoed, Mused, Pondered, Recalled, Reflected, Remembered, Reminded, Reminisced, Retorted, Reiterated

Expressing Humour or Amusement

Cackled, Chirped, Chuckled, Giggled, Guffawed, Jested, Joked, Laughed, Quipped

Revealing Information

Confessed, Confided, Divulged, Disclosed, Expressed, Hinted, Revealed, Shared, Spilled, Uttered

In a Flirtatious Way

Bantered, Cooed, Flirted, Joshed, Moaned, Purred, Teased

Demonstrating Surprise or Astonishment

Gasped, Marvelled, Yelped

Indicating Hesitation or Reluctance

Faltered, Hesitated, Stammered, Stuttered

Engaging in a Dispute or Argument

Argued, Bargained, Bickered, Contended, Debated, Disputed, Negotiates, Objected, Rebutted, Shot Back

Showing Enthusiasm or Excitement

Beamed, Blurted, Cheered, Exclaimed, Gushed, Raved, Rejoiced, Sang, Squealed, Trumpeted

Expressing Approval or Praise

Applauded, Complimented, Encouraged, Exhorted, Extolled, Lauded, Praised

Speaking in a Continuous or Repetitive Manner

Babbled, Chattered, Jabbered, Rambled, Rattled On, Repeated

Questions and Answers

Answered, Asked, Cross-examined, Inquired, Implored, Probed. Prodded, Prompted, Queried, Questioned, Quizzed, Requested

Expressing Criticism or Disagreement

Challenged, Chastised, Chided, Condemned, Corrected, Countered, Criticized, Deflected, Demurred, Denounced, Scolded

Negative or Deceptive Communication

Denied, Droned, Exaggerated, Interrupted, Lied

Finishing the Conversation 

Concluded, Finished, Thanked

Neutral or Miscellaneous

Admired, Consented, Foretold, Invited, Mentioned, Mouthed, Pointed Out, Replied, Said, Sputtered, Volunteered

Don’t forget our Grand Opening Giveaway starts February 1st/24 on Tumblr, Instagram and slayingfiction.com! You don’t want to miss it!

Happy Writing!

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

I used to be interesting. I used to be able to box. I used to play basketball. I used to play trumpet. I used to play guitar. I used to be able to line dance and layup and hit the occasional three-pointer. I set a goddamn 30 meter dash record. I used to run just for the fuck of it. I used to rollerblade. I used to swim. I used to be able to work in a woodshop without assistance. I was learning how to fucking weld. I was going to learn how to play bass. I used to be able to play video games without dulling the difficulty or having to take breaks. Now I just sit at home and sleep. Now I’m mostly bedbound. Now all I can really do is write and crochet. None of this is fucking fair.

I don’t think I will ever be able to get over the fear and resentment of the fact that I will forever be the boring one in every friendship I make. Like, not only do I have to cope with the fact that I Can’t Do Things anymore, I also have to cope with the fact that everyone else Can. The most exciting thing that’s happened in my life is that I took a shower (and then had to lay down for two hours afterwards) - I don’t get to have fun stories or go out to fun places without severe consequence. I don’t leave leave the goddamn house. I spend half of my day sleeping and the rest of it in bed with about an hour to do hobbystuff every day. I have a boring life, and I’m boring, and not only do I hate it, it scares me to my core that the people around me will realize this and then leave me because of it