#the meaning of death

[kamy2425]

(Discworld Fanfic) The Meaning of Death: Chapter 11

*Living Biography Books~A School Field Trip To The University~Where IS That Cup Of Tea Death Mentioned?*

“So…um.”

SQUEAK!

Rincewind squinted at the creature, fairly certain he’d heard something vaguely intelligible beneath the squeaks. “I don’t think I’ve got any cheese on me, no.”

The hooded rodent stomped its skeletal foot with impatience.

SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

Failing to make useful conversation, the Death of Rats tilted its head and pointed at a door with its miniature scythe.

“Right,” said Rincewind, chuckling nervously. “As if I’m going to follow a suspicious creature into the hallways of Death—”

The Luggage, ever the opportunist, bolted after the rat.

The Death of Rats lunged through a crack into the large, ominous door, with the Luggage crashing into it, attempting to wedge its bulk through.

“Are you quite finished?” Rincewind asked, giving the Luggage just a few seconds before its legs gave up, splayed pathetically on the floor. It glared at its owner with something between wounded pride and spite.

“I reckon it’s one of those doors you have to pull,” Rincewind said dryly.

The Luggage tilted its lid.

“Oh, don’t believe me, do you?” Rincewind muttered, stepping forward and grasping the handle. “Watch and learn—”

He froze mid-sentence, eyes darting through the now open door. The Luggage leaned forward as well, crowding behind him. A library. Not just any library—a vast expanse of books spiraling into infinity. It almost rivaled the Unseen University’s.

Almost.

But something was off. These books were... too well-behaved. No chains, no growling. No rebellious incantations trying to leap off the page. Not one book rebelling against their readers. Rincewind ran a hand along their spines and sensed something—importance. And oddly enough, they were all named after people.

“Biographies.” Rincewind muttered under his breath, “These must be books written by-wait no that’s not right.” He ran up with such energy, putting his finger breeze through the pages as his mind wandered into a world of words. 

“They’re alive.” he said, wide-eyed, “Each one of them is a person, and this is their life! Written here! Everything! This is fascinating I-”

No. Don’t. He told himself. Get a grip. You’ve done this before. 

That little curious spark inside him did him no good. Last time he got curious with a book was when he was a teenager and got dared into reading the Octavo. Long story short, it caused one of the spells to enter his head and prevented him from casting any magic. Even if he went to the whole trouble of taking it out, his magic abilities never came back. 

Just look. He told himself, no touch.

Closing his eyes, he could hear the faint, endless scribbling. The lives of millions, buzzing around him, their stories in constant conversation. But what about the others? The ones not glowing with gold lettering?

Rincewind’s gaze fell to the bottom shelf. He barely hovered a finger near one of the duller books when it began to crumble into dust. He stepped back, hand over his mouth, bumping into the Luggage.

“Sorry.”

The Luggage, as usual, showed no inclination to understand or care, already wandering off in search of the Death of Rats.

Rincewind frowned, deep in thought. If these books capture every second of a person’s life, they must also record... their last.

A sudden chill ran down his human spine. With much speed, he skimmed the titles of every book that started with the letter T. Rincewind scratched his head and turned over to the F section. 

“Ah, of course.” Rincewind sighed as his arm rose to a particular book and turned over the more recent pages. 

It reads:

2:30 pm, Twoflower is enjoying a peaceful lunch in the park. A blue butterfly lands delicately on his finger. He regrets leaving his iconograph at home.

Rincewind smiled. He could see it clearly. The non-existent pen scribbled on:

2:35 pm, Two-Flower found a coin on the ground. What a lucky day, he thought as he picked up the coin. He tossed it at a nearby fountain, closed his eyes and began to pray.

‘I hope my letter will arrive safely to him’. He wished, ‘Too bad I didn’t get a picture of that butterfly. I shall draw him one!’

Rincewind closed the book as though it were on fire. "Right. The letters…”

He cringed, picturing the pile of unopened letters stuffed under his mattress. It’s not that he disliked the guy. Quite the opposite. Twoflower was probably the only human alive who liked him. Who didn’t see him as a failed wizard or a coward. And that’s why... the letters stayed unopened. And Rincewind won’t even dare to write him back. Yup, that makes total sense.

Trying to distract himself, Rincewind decided to search for his own biography. Oddly enough, his was encased in glass, a worn, red-leather tome.

Well, that’s…ominous.

He lifted the glass and opened the book, noting the red bookmarks scattered through the pages. Just to be thorough, he flipped to page one:

“WOMAN RAN AWAY. THEN RINCEWIND WAS BORN.”

Yup. Sounds about right. The book didn’t even bother with the details. Rincewind had very few early memories, though he did recall one when he was about eight years old. Yes, that was when he first visited the University.

He visited the University as a school trip, you see. Children were lining up to place their little curious hands on an orb that measured their magical potential. On his turn, little Rincewind put up his palm on the device, which of course, caused it to break instantaneously. Having to be chased down by the staff and the students that didn’t get a turn, Rincewind hid behind the curtains for the rest of the day. Since then, the University didn’t quite remember as to why they had one more student in their faculty. And Rincewind stayed there ever since. 

It is safe to say, they never let another school trip to that place. It was, of course, for the safety of the wizards. 

He never thought much about his past. He never thought of a life outside being a wizard in general. But those little red bookmarks? They piqued his interest. As his hand touched one, the seam of gold thread flew from the book, manifesting a door in the wall. "Rincewind" was inscribed above it. The door swung open, beckoning.

A gentle force nudged him forward, but a familiar voice echoed behind him.

CURIOUS? asked Death.

The door slammed shut. Rincewind spun around, defensive.

“Curious? Me? Haha, that’s pretty much the OPPOSITE of what I do. Curious. haha.”

Death hummed as its flaming eyes looked over the non existent door,

HAVE YOU ENJOYED YOUR STAY?

“Not exactly my cup of tea,” Rincewind muttered.

WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?

Death handed Rincewind his much awaited drink.

“Erm, thanks.” Rincewind sipped.

Blast it. 

It was perfect. 

This tea really is to die for.

For the Fic!

[alyana-luvs-u]

death

no tyrant, dictator or evil being,

could ever come as close,

to being as cruel and manipulative as

death

death, a surreal daydream

until one day it strikes you in the face

and you're left cold and numb

with your body drained of tears that you can cry no longer

and all you can do is reminisce

and merely remember

them.

with the knowledge that one day

you will forget their voice

you will forget their face

you will forget their laugh

you will forget their tears

you will forget the silly habits they used to do

you will forget your meaningless arguments

the memories will live on

inside your heart

inside your head

inside your mind

inside your soul

but it never truly goes away

the bitter cold emptiness

merely a gaping wound slowly being sewn up

you can only remember their voice through videos

and audio tapes

you'll never get to walk down the stairs and see them cooking breakfast again

you'll never feel the comfort of their hug

you'll never be twirled and picked up by him

you'll never be able to go through birthdays or christmas the same again

you'll never be able to look at their room normally again

you'll never be able to feel truly safe

you'll fear for your children and friends

and pray to god that they be kept safe

because that my friends,

is the doing and unravelling,

of

death.

to zara.

i want you to know that even though he's gone, he raised a fucking amazing, beautiful, talented and gorgeous daughter. you're so fucking strong. he was too good for this world.

i love you <3

~ a

[cahootings]

I redownload this app for one day once every maybe two months and unfortunately I’m rewarded every time

[spamton]

i accidentally napped and had a dream (nightmare?) where a new update for stardew valley released where everything was the same except on a random day in year 3 Evelyn would just straight up die. There was a whole cutscene that started in her house where she collapsed, and then transitioned over to the hospital where Harvey gave George and Alex the worst news of their lives. However, they got to speak to her where she said something along the lines of "Yoba will protect me, and I am sure he will let me watch over you."

Alex and George would not talk to the player for more than a few words for a full season after this event. George would spend most of his time in the bedroom, so if you had less than 2 hearts with him, you could barely ever speak to him.

And Alex... oh my god, poor Alex. If you were married to him during this event, he just stayed in bed all day. Otherwise, if single, he would just stand on the beach most of the time, staring off into the ocean. If you tried to interact with him, it would just say "Alex is grieving... Better leave him be."

There was also other NPC dialogue like mayor Lewis saying "I haven't seen the community in this state of mourning since your grandfather passed..."

there was also a glitch where you could make Evelyn live forever and there were entire guides for the "immortal Evelyn glitch" that got patched out in the next update. If you tried to perform the glitch after the patch, mr. Qi would tell you that "hey, it happens to all of us. We can't prevent it, and neither can you, no matter how hard you try."

[samd1o1]

My experience with queer media lately:

[awhimproned]

new niche just dropped

edit: there’s a pattern of something something wanting to protect their partners from what they know to be horrible

[bloodybellycomb]

Bro, my unyielding loyalty towards you is totally normal and healthy, I swear. It's just that it's definitely my duty to rip out your enemies throats with my bare teeth. You are the love of my life and I am your most valuable tool. Each night, I fantasize about dying in your arms, covered in blood, and then I close my eyes one final time, satisfied because I can feel your fingers on my face as I take my last breath. Haha anyways

[goodsirs]

Our Flag Means Death 2.06 "Calypso's Birthday"

[djarin]

#he got the Izzy Stamp of Approval™!!!

[kamy2425]

(Fanfic) "The Meaning of Death" The Chapter Where Rincewind Is At Death's Doorsteps (Literally)

In any profession, there exists a silent, unspoken rule about work ethics that, regrettably, most people remain blissfully unaware of. And that is: one should never bring work home . The workplace stands as its own peculiar universe, while home, in most cases, is known as the sanctuary zone. It's advisable not to muddle these two realms; otherwise, you won't know where each of these starts or ends. Before you know it, Betty from Accounting will be well aware that the bite mark on your neck wasn't from an escaped zoo snake with an uncanny ability to leap.

No, it's best to keep these two worlds as distinct as possible, aided by that little switch in our minds that signals when the workday is done. These cues could be as simple as changing one's clothes or indulging in personal hobbies. And you can never go wrong with a nice cup of tea and some light reading.

It was by this unspoken rule that Rincewind made a rather significant discovery within Death’s Domain: you can’t really die there. Not because of some mystical law that prevents it, but because it would be considered rude . Death, like all the workers in the universe, tries his best not to take work home with him.

Death’s Domain existed outside the bounds of time, untouched by decay and change. It was also, quite frankly, rather dull. Yet, Rincewind’s little hummingbird heart found an odd sort of comfort in the stillness.

You can’t die here, Rincewind thought, no accidents, no twists of fate, a world stuck in limbo. Stuck in time. If he runs now, he’ll only be back the way he started. Now the most challenging part in all of this is… to make small talk.

“Is, um…” Rincewind’s finger wavered uncertainty over some random bushes, “Is that a new shade of gray there?”

YES, Death replied, turning his flaming azure gaze towards the wizard. NO ONE REALLY NOTICES, THOUGH.

“It really, um…” The wizard coughed, trying to fill the silence. “It really complements the, uh… ambiance.”

"INDEED."

…

…

…

“LUGGAGE!” Rincewind shouted at the void, “LUGGAGE!”

To Rincewind's considerable relief, the Luggage appeared on the horizon and trundled back to his side. For an enchanted piece of furniture, the Luggage seemed to be less talkative than usual.

“Well, there you are. Right. All in one piece, I see,” Rincewind muttered, mostly to himself. “Shall we, um, get going?”

In an unexisting second later, the door closes behind them. The inside of the house was also as dull as the world outside. Rincewind couldn’t help but focus on the lighting. There were too many candles in place just to light up a hypothetical darkness. Without any Sun or moon, each window inside seemed to depict different times of day, while the inside of the house remained unchanged by it. 

WOULD YOU LIKE A CUP OF TEA, RINCEWIND?

“Do I assume this tea is to DIE for?” 

VERY AMUSING, RINCEWIND. Said Death, without a hint of amusement. He moved ahead of the wizard and turned down a corridor. AND YES.

As Death departed the room, Rincewind finally exhaled, feeling the weight of reality settle back around him.

“Why am I doing this?” Rincewind asked his own reflection through a set of mirrors hanging on the wall, “This isn’t what I usually do, is it?”

The wizard paced back and forth. His own adventures, which he had no say in the matter, had some sort of narrative theme. When he sees what could possibly be a world-ending problem, he leaves. Then, with a little bit of twists and knobs, the wizard would face that said world-ending problem, and boom! It somehow got fixed. Rince and Repeat. Rince and Repeat. Rince…

“I see the Master has brought a guest over.” An ill-stained voice echoed from across a room, “How delightful…”

Rincewind jumped at the sight of him. He thought Death would live alone. It was strange that there was another human here. Actually, if memory serves, there was a little girl the last time he was here.  But something was oddly familiar about this old man. Perhaps he saw him somewhere…in a portrait of some kind? Or maybe…

“Rincewind, was it?” Asked Albert without pausing for a reply, “The Master has some paperwork to be done in his study. You’re free to roam about.”

Rincewind followed the servant of Death, “Um…have we-”

“If you’re looking for the toilet, just pull open a door. The room will manifest if you REALLY want to go. The Master is very proud of its decor.”

They ended up entering a little study room. A desk sat on the center of it, while a small untidy bed lay just next to it. Everything seemed to be gray and dull just like every corner of this place. Everything except some red and green elf shoes decorated with jingle bells at the tip, just below the bed. They look rather cozy, to be honest.

“Um, who exactly are-”

“I know dang well what you are, see.” The old man sat on his desk as he pulled out a pipe from the drawer.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He puffed, the smoke fleeing from his enlarged nostrils, “You’re here to replace me, aren’t you?”

Rincewind blinked several times as his mouth tried to comprehend his words.

“Well, I ain’t going, ya hear.” Albert continued on without interruptions, “I took too long to get this gig.”

“I’m not really-”

“ Immortality .” Continued Albert as he puffed three smoke rings at the ceiling, “It’s what every legendary wizard truly seeks. Yes, there’s power, but can’t do much about it if you’re dead afterwards. Took a lot of trouble talking to the guy and asking for a job here. And no one’s gonna take it away. And especially not some accidental-prone cowardly weasel-”

“Wizard-” 

Albert slams his fists on the table, “Oh you think you’re clever, don’t ya?”

“Not really,” Replied Rincewind truthfully, “Aren’t you Alberto Malich, by any chance? Founder of Unseen Uni-”

“Yeah,” said Albert, spitting a glob of saliva into a bucket, “I’ve been there once. Not really what I wanted to see. Not to mention, some daft student there took my staff!”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on Rincewind.

“You, uh…” Albert leaned in, hope glimmering in his elderly eyes, “You wouldn’t happen to know if they’ve put up a new statue of me, would ya? Or what became of my staff?”

“Uhhh…”

Yes, Rincewind thought in the quiet sanctuary of his mind. The last time he saw that staff, it had been repurposed as a coat rack and occasionally as the Librarian’s personal back scratcher. As for the statue, it was rather small, squeezed into a dungeon with the inscription, “We Shall Not See His Like Again.”

“Oh, you know us wizards.” Rincewind fibbed with all the sincerity he could muster, “Quite a large statue, really! You probably can’t even see it—Cause…it’s so big!”

“Good!” Albert relaxed in his chair as a smile spread with wizardly pride.

“Look, between you and me,” The old man leaned and lowered his voice, “The Master can get a bit eh…bored with his line of work.”

“Bored?” Rincewind asked in surprise, “Death?”  

“I know, I know.” Albert sighed, “And unfortunately, that always leads him to make little poking around in the Discworld.”

“Well,” Rincewind shrugged casually, “Gods do that all the time, don’t they?”

“No.” Albert responded wearily, “Gods trick people just for the fun of it. Death, well, he just wants to make sense of it all.”

“Sense?” Rincewind mulled over his past encounters with Death, attempting to piece them together like a disjointed collage. Sure, Death had appeared and frightened him more times than he could count, always claiming to be there just to observe . Same old routine— Rince and repeat. And much like the wizard, Death has become tired of it. And wanted to do a little change in the routine.

It appeared to Rincewind that, much like his garden or his peculiarly decorated bathrooms, Death wanted to become into something else—something more… humane. But surely, an entity couldn’t truly express emotions! Imitation, perhaps, but to genuinely understand and make sense of them? Rincewind wasn’t sure. He had never really bothered to understand Death—or even to view him as a “guy.”

“You could call it justice,” Albert went on, “But the Master would argue against calling it that. And to be honest, his little poking about is much more dangerous than any Gods meddling. I'd be afraid if I were you.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all!” Rincewind shouted with a bit of pride himself, “I’m afraid all the time!”

“Well, that’s good!”

The door behind Rincewind creaked open, revealing a pair of legs. The owner stood up and widened the door to allow the Luggage to enter. Rincewind noticed that the Luggage moved with an oddly uneasy walk, as if it had been unsettled by an unspoken dread. As he touched the wooden surface, a cold sensation immediately spread through his fingers.

“You know,” Albert said, rising and rummaging through his storage closet, “it could make a great staff.”

The Luggage leaned in and nudged the wizard’s leg, sending a similar chill through Rincewind’s mind.

“Sapient Pearwood in such quantity,” Albert continued to search, “Who knows, it would probably be enough to make an incompetent wizard such as yourself make a decent fireball. Now where did my tools go? Ah, there it is.”

Albert retrieved a metal contraption and hefted it onto the desk with a crash. He turned a lever on its side, and hundreds of tiny metal teeth began whirling at a maddening speed.

“Alright, let’s get started,” said the old man, now donning safety goggles.

The Luggage’s handles quivered in place as Rincewind recoiled from the shrieking edges of the contraption. The Luggage- HIS luggage-stood perfectly still, no matter how much Rincewind tried to push it back. It remained in place. There were two kinds of being frightened, Rincewind knew. Much like the “Flight or Fight” response, there exists another set of reactions not widely known: “Fright or Freeze.” Rincewind considered himself a master of the Fright response. When danger loomed, he turned and fled the opposite way as quickly as possible. Freeze , however, was the unfortunate reaction the Luggage was experiencing for the first time.

“W-wait, hold on. Hold ON!” Rincewind flailed frantically at the crazed man. “This is my Luggage!”

The monstrous machine slowed as its owner lifted his goggles to his forehead.

“What kind of wizard would be foolish enough to leave perfectly good Sapient Pearwood lying around?”

“Me!” Rincewind exclaimed, surprisingly. “And if it just so happens that I DO have a staff, it’s a bit… box-shaped, with a penchant for occasional murdering, AND requires a coat of linseed oil five times a week! Thank you very much!”

Rincewind desperately shoved the Luggage out of the room and slammed the door shut. He urged the Luggage to keep up as they rounded a corner and tumbled down together.

The wizard’s shocked hands covered his face as Rincewind’s eyes remained wide open. “I can’t believe I just did that!”

It’s this place! Rincewind thought, having no repercussions of death in this realm, has made him to be someone he won’t have dared to be. It’s like being drunk! 

The Luggage, now back to its energetic self, had its mahogany tongue out, patting with delight.

“What?” asked the wizard wearily. “Don’t look at me like that.”

The Luggage’s tongue stretched out and enthusiastically licked its owner in gratitude.

“Fine, fine! Alright!” Rincewind’s arms flailed in a vain attempt to push the Luggage away, “You’re welcome!”

The chest bounced up and down until it finally settled its hundreds of feet beside the wizard.

“We have to get out of here, don’t you think?” Rincewind spoke in a low voice. “This place is affecting us both!”

The air around the Luggage huffed in response.

“I never thought I’d be here again,” the wizard pondered, “Last time I was here, I wanted to… I wanted to—”

With his fists clenched at his side, the wizard’s mind conjured up an image of a seemingly cheerful tourist snapping photos of a tower of skulls. The Luggage opened its mouth and began nibbling on Rincewind’s sleeves.

“You probably miss him, don’t you?” Rincewind asked genuinely. “All this fetching and running after me—it must be rather tiring for you, doesn’t it?”

The Luggage continued to munch on his clothing.

“Now I’m here- of my own free will, by the way!” Rincewind sighed. “And for what? For some answers? To make sense of things? Hah! It’s not like I even know what the questions are!”

SQUEAK!

Rincewind looked up, remaining perfectly still. He lightly tapped his hand towards the Luggage while keeping his eyes fixed on the small voice in front of him.

“Have I finally gone mad?” The self-proclaimed wizard asked his sentient walking box. “Or is that little rat wearing a hood?”

[nicostiel]

#The nod of consent is so important to me 😭

[noknowshame]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

[halles-comet]

my favorite historical thing about actual pirates is most of them were really young guys who died between the ages of 17 and 24 so one of the reasons blackbeard is so famous three hundred years later is because he was, like, thirty-two and still kicking which made him seem really wise and shit-together by comparison. it's like when you're a 28 year old woman and get tumblr asks from college freshman that say "oh my god you don't look like a withered corpse at all"

[hansoeii]

when 2022 me thought it would be fun to draw stede with a beard and a silly little curled up mustache and start calling him steard for the fun of it

AND NOW IT'S REAL

THEY DID IT

MY CREATION.

IT IS REAL. HOLY FUCK

[kitkatkey]

Izzy singing a song from the 1940s in the 1700s is peak historical accuracy, no notes