Matsuda: Hey Ryuuzaki, how do you want your coffee?
L: As sweet as me.
Matsuda: Oh no... I don't have enough salt for that!
Working while my brain is flashing pictures of how I’d look if I’d be dead. If I’d shoot myself. If I’d cut my arms open. If I’d jump out of the next window. If I’d drown myself. If I’d overdose.
And those pictures of my corpse are odly calming.
Tw: Death (don’t read this if you’re triggered by such topics)
This is kind of hard for me to write but being alone in my room for the first time in over 20 hours after mourning a friend passing away really makes you feel so alone in this world.
I rarely talk about my personal life on my blog but I felt like I needed to let this out somehow because I feel like I can’t breath or function since I’ve heard the news. It really hasn’t hit me until now that my closest childhood friend has left this world and is no longer with me, I think my brain just refuses to believe that because that’s the only thing that can explain why I feel like maybe just maybe this is all just a nightmare that I’ll wake up from …. But I know it’s not, what I’m feeling is too real to be a nightmare.
This past day has been an absolute blur, I just feel empty and I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on.
She was the first person that I called a friend and the one that kept me going for all those years especially at my lowest times. She brought so much joy to my shitty depressing life and I cannot imagine a life without her.
In the past 3 months I’ve lost 7 people to COVID and this is the 8th, it’s just one after the other and my brain cannot comprehend what is going on anymore.
To everyone, please stay safe and take care of yourselves, your families and friends.
I just thought of something.
Pepe The Frog was canonically killed off when Matt Furie couldn’t successfully reclaim him from the alt-right, correct?
That essentially means all those horrible Nazi memes you see him in are a Weekend At Bernie’s situation
you know whats unfortunate?
Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as Katara sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”
Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”
When Aang falls, Katara is always there to catch him. But maybe that’s part of the problem.
(Written for Day 5 of Kataang Week 2021: Healing, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3 or continue reading below.)
Aang loved Katara. Plain and simple. Under only the watchful eye of the moon—hope all is well with you, Princess Yue, Sokka is doing just fine—Aang might even be willing to admit he was in love with her. It wasn’t a secret, per se, but to love was to be vulnerable and despite the infinite lives he contained as the Avatar, Aang was still only human.
All the same, Aang had no shame in acknowledging that he liked having Katara’s attention on him, and moreover that he liked reciprocating her attention with his own on her. He liked how they were touchy-feely with each other in a way they were with no one else, liked how they would stay up together to count the stars and talk about anything and nothing, liked how they could make each other smile at even their lowest points.
But ever since Ba Sing Se…
Something had changed.
For better or for worse, Aang wasn’t quite sure. Because now, now it seemed more of Katara’s attention was on him than before. And at first, Aang thought he’d understood why. He’d died, he’d been in a coma for weeks, he’d flirted with death while Katara had been the one keeping constant vigil at his bedside. Though his outward wounds had long since healed into scars, there were lingering aches and pains below the surface that still could make him stumble.
Katara was always there to catch him when he fell.
But that was the—that was the problem, for lack of a better word on Aang’s part. Katara was healing him all but constantly, never letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. The only exceptions had been his time at the Fire Nation school and her secret trips to Jang Hui as the Painted Lady. She’d almost burst into tears when he’d gotten the smallest of scratches across his thumb the other day, and that? That was not normal.
Whatever was going on, Aang knew he couldn’t let her face it alone any longer.
One night during their usual stargazing, lying down with their backs against the grass on the flattest ledge in their camp, Aang seized the moment.
“Is there a reason you’ve been so… protective of me lately?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. It was like trying to approach a baby deer-cat—he didn’t want to spook her by storming into the subject.
Katara stiffened, and though she didn’t flee, Aang idly wondered if he’d underestimated how painful this conversation might be. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Aang tried to reassure her, turning in the grass onto his side so he could face her properly. “You’ve just seemed a little on edge the past few weeks. Talking about whatever’s on your mind might—might help.”
“Doubt that,” Katara muttered bitterly, keeping her eyes averted from Aang’s own as she picked at a blade of grass. The moonlight breaking through the tree branches to their right cast dark shadows across her face, like rivers of ink winding down her cheeks. “I prefer not thinking about it, much less talking.”
Well, at least she’d admitted something was bothering her. Aang counted that as a small victory. But her aggressive resistance did mean he would have to prod a little more to get her to open up.
“I know you’re worried about me,” Aang said after a pause. He sat up, bracing himself with his hands behind him. “I don’t know why, but I know you are.”
Katara sat up and opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Aang pushed forward, not giving her the chance to disagree. To lie, really.
“I can tell because you’ve… you’ve been healing every little scratch I get. Which is kind, but”—he pursed his lips, shaking his head—“I can’t be your priority, Katara. Not all the time. Not over healing Sokka or Toph or yourself, when someone else’s injuries are worse. Okay?”
Katara’s jaw was tight, a clear sign Aang had struck a nerve. Hopefully not one that stung too sharply, bit too deeply, because hurting Katara was the last thing he wanted to do. What he feared more than anything.
Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as she sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”
Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”
Aang had only the faintest memories of Ba Sing Se, of waking up for but a few seconds in Katara’s arms as the most radiant, most relieved smile he’d ever seen had graced her lips. The relief hadn’t matched the exhaustion—the terror—in her eyes, though. After that, he’d… disappeared, vanished somewhere into the depths of his own mind for more days than he could count.
Katara chuckled, the sound tinged with a deep-seated weariness. “Maybe a bit of both?”
She silenced him with an icy look. “Don’t. Don’t use that pitying tone with me, Aang. I know it’s an irrational fear, I don’t need you to tell me that.” Katara huffed, throwing her hands up and shaking her head. “See? This is why. This is why I don’t like thinking about it.”
Aang bit his lip. Tempted as he was to swear up and down that no, he hadn’t meant to strike such a tone, he hadn’t meant to invalidate her concerns, there was a far more important direction their conversation needed to be taken in.
“It’s clearly not irrational if you can’t shake it off,” Aang said after a pause. He hesitated, then placed a careful hand on top of hers, which had returned to resting on the grass. When she made no move to pull away, he continued. “But if you’re really worried… why don’t you explain it to me?”
That offer caught Katara’s attention, and she stared at him with a mixture of shock and confusion permeating her features. Furrowed brow, head tilted at a slight angle. “What?”
Aang shrugged. “Tell me what’s making you so anxious, and then I can confirm whether or not your fear is rational.” He suspected it would be somewhere on the perpetually sliding scale between rational and irrational, as most fears born of traumatic experiences were. He had a few of his own. No shame in admitting that.
Katara hesitated, her gaze flickering over his face from top to bottom, as if searching for any hint of doubt or suspicion or—spirits forbid—pity. But Aang knew she wouldn’t find any, and he was right.
“Okay,” she murmured, averting her eyes from his own to stare at the grass they still sat upon. “Maybe I do need to”—she shook her head—“maybe that would help. A little.”
Katara’s current discomfort was clear to Aang, and he hated seeing her like this. Shaken, weary, broken in more ways than one. But what he hated even more was to see Katara terrified, and terror was the only expression written in her eyes each time she watched him get hurt, no matter how minor the injury. So if she would talk, Aang would listen, and he would do whatever he could to reassure her.
“This war has been going on my entire life,” Katara said after a pause. “So I’m not—I’m not unfamiliar with death”—a low chuckle escaped her lips—“although not for a lack of trying on Sokka’s part.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, picking at a blade of grass with her hand that wasn’t beneath Aang’s. “But warriors died in battle. Babies didn’t always survive birth. I—I saw my own mother’s corpse when I was only eight years old, Aang, so burned up you could barely recognize her—”
Katara snapped her jaw shut as her voice neared a fatal crack, and she blinked back tears.
Before he could lose his nerve, Aang turned Katara’s hand over, the one still beneath his own, and carefully laced their fingers together. I’m here, he tried to say, not knowing how to say it. His touch seemed to do the trick, though, as Katara exhaled a shuddering breath and moved to rest against his side, their shoulders pressed firmly together.
“I was never… never close, though,” she murmured, her voice having regained stability. “Never touched the bodies. Not even my mom’s.”
The note of grief in Katara’s voice rang sharper than a wind chime, and Aang had to fight down the urge to pull her into his arms then and there. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was finished, not until she was ready. So though Aang’s heart ached with an identical loss—You turned your back on the world!—he said nothing, and he let her continue.
“But I… I caught you, Aang.” Katara’s grip tightened around his hand, but Aang didn’t pull away, not even when her nails began digging into the skin just below his knuckles. “When you fell, in Ba Sing Se. After Azula. I caught you, I held you when you were—”
“Gone?” Aang supplied when her voice vanished, and Katara nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her free hand.
“Yeah.” She took another slow breath, clearing her throat. “And, you know, people always say that death is—that death is cold. It’s life, energy, stolen from the body. But Aang, you were”—Katara shook her head, eyes brimming with tears that glowed like droplets of liquid silver in the moonlight—“you were so warm, I could almost believe you were sleeping and would wake up in my arms any minute.”
Aang swallowed a lump rising in his own throat. “And I did wake up,” he said gently, once a beat had passed. “Because you saved me, Katara. You brought me back.”
Katara gave him a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you get it, Aang? That’s the problem.” Her free hand clenched into a fist, and she slammed it a single time against her chest—right over her heart. “I had the water from the Spirit Oasis. I had control, that was why I was able to heal you then, that was how I was able to make everything okay. But now?”
Katara’s hand uncurled, falling weakly to her side as she shook her head. Another silver tear traced the edge of a shadow that still haunted her cheek, the drop trickling downward. “Now, I don’t have miracles to rely on for help anymore. The only control I have is me, my own abilities, and Tui and La, Aang, I can’t—I can’t lose you again!”
Her voice broke, and Aang threw all forethought to the wind, releasing Katara’s hand to pull her into a hug fiercer than any they’d ever shared before. He didn’t care how her tears wet his shoulder, he didn’t care how desperately her arms locked around his body, no, all he needed was for Katara to know that he was there.
“I’m so sorry,” Aang finally whispered, pathetic and useless as the three words were.
Katara shook her head, face still buried into his shoulder. “Not your fault.”
For the first time since they’d met in the South Pole, Aang had no idea how to comfort her. It won’t happen again, I’ll always be there for you, you’ll always be there for me, we’ll both make it through this—they were empty promises, cheap vows he had no way to guarantee.
“We’re here now,” Aang murmured, pressing the lightest of kisses to the top of her hair. A new three words, a different but still simple action—something about the combination of gestures must have soothed Katara, as Aang could feel her exhale and her body relax against his own. “We’re here now.”
The present was all they could count on.
I think his dying wish was probably "Get this plastic bag off my head".
Ian Gallagher (requested by @mickpause)
i wish i’d just kept my mouth shut the last time i tried to kill myself. i literally could’ve been dead right now and i wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. i’m so miserable it’s not even funny. i don’t wanna be here anymore. it would be better for everyone if i was gone anyway.
Fern just seemed too young for this.
I know a year and 8 months is decent for a rat. I know its not too short.
But it feels too short.
I was hoping for 2 at least with her. Really 3.
But she just turned so sharply
She would have staaved to death if we hadn't put her down
I should just be glad that the pituitary tumor didn't activate till later in life. That we had her for, pretty much, a full life.
But I just cant stop thinking....she was too young. She was too too young.
Why the fuck are there particular words for murdering a family member?
[Embrace the collapse of time]
"My rage washed over me...
I must have stayed in Ca'Vespucci for as long as three days. I had thought my wrath would end with me destroying this place and killing everyone in it like I had with the Frances mansion and my father.... an act even today I don't even regret, for their hand in the Reconquista and the suffering of so many others--and mine--could finally end. But...
"Gregorio... Lorenzo.... they surrendered to me so quickly..... they had denied me the chance to see them beg for the mercy they denied Giovanni. No pleading for life to spend in their ill-begotten wealth. Not even a cry for their late mother to help them in their time of need.
"I took the time to search the home. Ask around neighbors.....
"It turns out.... by the end of the War of the Holy League.... the Council rewarded the Vespucci brothers by.... thanking them. And that was it. No further reward. No acknowledgement. No letting back into the Council. For all their efforts in trying to make good and get back into their positions of glory and power.... it cost everything the Vespucci had left and more. Their wives and children left them, either on their own or passed on. Every kind of misfortune that could happen had happened to them tenfold within the span of seven years.
"Their efforts.... worthless. Their time.... worthless. Their betrayals.... worthless. Their goals.... worthless. Their lives, hopes, and dreams... all worthless.
"I made one last round in Ca'Vespucci, going through my uncle's study, to say goodbye to the place where I came for comfort after what happened to Marta. I found something that has stuck with me until this very day........
"It was a chest full of assorted things from the past. The toys we used to play together. The ball Giovanni used to have. Rosella's old collar. And a little booklet...
"It was Gregorio's diary. It contained entries of his memories with me and Carles. It included the song Carles wrote on the viola de ma....
"And it contained letters that were never sent. Letters to Giovanni, begging for forgiveness he and Lorenzo couldn't be better brothers to him. Letters about them remembering what their mother did every time they played with him. Memories of every misfortune that was unfairly attributed to him. That they wished they could do more than just keep him in the cellar... but so much was happening and they didn't know what to do. They couldn't take care of him because of the war and all their efforts funneled into returning to the Council. That perhaps if they finally fulfilled their family wish in regaining their power.... they can release him and let him be free into the world.
"By throwing Giovanni into the cellar, they placed themselves into one of their own: Hell. They knew God's punishment awaited them for their grievous sin. For betraying their own family for monetary gain and political power. All for nothing. And they knew it. They welcomed Hell with open arms....
"And unlike Giovanni.... I could not set them free."
"I have decided to deal with this personally.
"One blade for Gregorio..... one for Lorenzo.......
"I approached Ca'Vespucci without challenge. Not even the guards stood a chance.
"Lorenzo was by himself in the parlor, drinking himself to a stupor....
"I made sure it hurt. I made sure he suffered. But instead of crying out for mercy.... he thanked me. He said to me, 'You've finally come. Thank you, Angel of Death, for bringing justice for what we've done'. He passed before I could do anymore to him.
"I didn't think much of what he said then.... I just made my way for Gregorio.....
"And there he was, at the study. Sitting where his father, my beloved Uncle Antonio, once sat.
"He looked at me, raising his arms like he anticipated in me to nail him to a cross. I didn't think twice of striking him down.
"As he fell, with my sword into his chest... he reached up to me.... to kiss me on the cheek, as a brother would. He then whispered to me as he held me close....
"'Angel of Death... thank you.... please watch over my little brother Josep.... and my little brother Giovanni.'"
TW: death, family loss, grieving, etc
Bad photo, but there was a pair of Australian wood ducks that was separate from the rest of the flock that took off from Penhryn Pond as we started our moment of silence for Joss and Dad, and watched from one of the trees overhead until we started taking turns scattering the ashes into the water. Then they flew back and forth around the surrounding trees until we were done with our ceremony, when they came back close to the little access point where the ashes were.
My sister said she saw them before they took off and thought "That's them."
My sister and I scattered a small amount of Dad's ashes into the water along with Joss's - first Jeanette had Dad's container while I had Joss's and then we switched. I have a container with some of Joss's ashes to be scattered with Dad when we send him off, so they'll be together in two places they were happy together.
After a morning tea to get together and reminisce, I went to the house to collect the last things I was taking that has been left to be used for cleaning up to get it ready for sale.
I drove away from Dad and Joss's home for the last time and couldn't break down in tears like I desperately needed to, because I had to drive, and then go shopping, and then drive home.
I got home and laid on my bed and cried and have barely moved since. I intend to keep it that way until tomorrow, and tomorrow I will be very kind to myself.
the older i get, the younger the people around me are dying
its sad and it’s scary, it scares me
the thought that it could’ve been someone near and dear to me
how could i live without my best friend next to me? how could i live on as people spread lies about my dead best friend on the internet while i was there holding him as he closed his eyes for the last time?
death doesn’t discriminate and i know it
but when the world is crashing around me it seems that god has it out for me