#cw grief mention

[grungepoetica]

been four years since my mom died and i'm making ramen like she did when she was here. forget lemons; when life goes to shit, make pasta out of it.

hope you're proud of me mom. this ramen is for you.

[blueequin0x]

Protective // Art + Speedpaint

WARNING mention of grief:

I usually allow what I draw to be up to the viewer's interpretation, but this one's meaning is too important to me. I drew the sketch months ago, shortly after losing someone, to vent my emotions at the time.

I'm sharing this in hopes that it finds and comforts anyone else who resonates with these feelings

Masterlist of Helplines if you’re struggling: https://www.helpguide.org/find-help.htm

CONTENT WARNINGS: [all of this is fictional] character staring at the viewer semi-threateningly / scopophobia  // please tell me if I missed any :]   

Zoomed in versions

DO NOT REPOST // DO NOT REMOVE CAPTION AND CONTENT WARNINGS

total time taken: 11 hours 45 minutes

link to the speedpaint: https://youtu.be/M7yfvGS1lrY

[dumbdomb]

Good morning

hello, dear. <3 it's always nice to see you in my notifications. i hope you had an ok weekend. i was catching up on some movies i've been meaning to watch and pondering the orb... (slowly regaining some old interests i'd thought i lost but were lying dormant in my cluttered, over-processed mind.) it feels good to finally emerge from the shadows of grief, forever changed but with a new appreciation for how many ways i've been loved and have loved. it is always a good morning, and yet simultaneously the worst day ever - we're all here, living and learning. connecting with each other, with the past and futures of this small and infinite world.

good morning. hello, again! it's so nice to hear from you. i'm glad we get to greet each other. have you seen the stars at night? have you felt the cool air on your skin in the early morning or the sunlight after breakfast? hi!! i hope you have an ok day, and this week isn't too rough on you. the next week will be here soon, and the next month, too. and another tomorrow...!! 🥰

[5ftboy]

"We never said that we think you should've been with grandpa." "You won't even tell us what happened to him."

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[eemamminy-art]

Things took a turn for the worse today during her treatments and we had to put our kitty to sleep. Please don't ask me for details. We did all we could, but satisfying your curiosity isn't worth me recounting the details over and over to everyone who wants to know. Just know we had no other choice and it was frankly devastating.

I'm going to take the rest of the week off and get back to my comms on monday. It's been a long couple of weeks as it is and this week especially the days have been long. Tomorrow will be another long day to bury her.

some further personal stuff below the cut about death and loss

I feel like every time I lose someone else in my life I'm retraumatized and shattered into more pieces than I was before. My whole world broke completely when my mom died. Then 8 months later my dad died too, and I just remember getting the call to come to the hospital immediately because there wasn't much time left and thinking, "This can't be happening again." Getting the call today about our cat, it's all I could think of too. "This can't be happening again."

Since losing my mom in 2013 and my dad in 2014, I've lost all four grandparents, two uncles, and now my cat. I hate that it's such a familiar routine now. I feel so thoroughly soaked through by death that I will never truly get through it. Like I'm rotting away too, little by little.

I try to take solace in how my dad had this outlook of like, to not linger in the past or linger on the things we can't change. I try to do that. I try to just look forward. When I look forward though, sometimes all I can see is my own death waiting for me. I treat my body so badly when I'm in the thickest muck of sorrow and I know it just burns the candle of my life quicker, but what else am I going to do?

I hate having to tell everyone about it. Yeah hi me again. You'll never guess, someone else died. I know, you're sorry, thanks, it's okay. In the uber ride home I was writing to all my friends who have been checking in on me to tell them what's happened, trying not to throw up, and I'm instantly 22 again, calling my aunts and uncles and cousins at 6 am after being up all night to let everyone know my dad was gone.

I draw and write about these topics often because I'm trying so hard to heal from them and make sense of them. If I can write about fictional characters overcoming their trauma and grief and finding light and happiness again, it gives me some hope that I'll find that one day too. Still waiting, but maybe I'll find it. Though it seems I can't even have peace in my creative outlets when time and again I have people making it about stupid ship wars and antagonizing me and belittling me for what I'm making when I'm just trying to work through all the tragedies of my life through my art and writing. Life isn't fair and then stuff like that happens and I remember people don't care how much you've lost or suffered sometimes, they only care about themselves.

I'm sure this is all very worrying to read but ultimately I'm just venting after experiencing something terrible after a lifetime of other terrible experiences. I'll be okay. I always come through. I'm not a quitter. If you read all of this, then thank you. Please be gentle with me. My light will probably dimmer for the foreseeable future but I'll be okay. You probably noticed I didn't mention many details about my cat. That was on purpose. It's hard enough feeling her absence, trying to articulate all the things that made her so special and that I will miss in her is going to make me even sicker than I already am. So please don't ask. If I want to talk about her I will, but right now it's so difficult, and more than anything my body is just reacting to having the trauma of death coursing through it yet again.

[pillowspace]

Hi, it's like almost 4 in the morning, but I suddenly had an angsty Time Loop AU realization that was like semi-horrifying and I kept thinking about it, so.

It could be easy to write off Sun and Moon as not really having to face much trauma during the time loops, while just Y/N does. But when you take into account that Y/N's the only one who knows they'll be okay in the end, the loops in which Y/N dies are devestating on Sun and Moon. Because they're not constantly in virus mode. Moon has moments. A lot of moments, but they pass. The virus eases up. And the loops aren't dependant on Y/N, they're dependant on the day of the fire, meaning that they're just kind of in sleep mode until time's up to bring them back. So Sun and Moon just have to deal with the burden of what's happened to Y/N until time resets, and they're not waiting for that reset to happen, because they don't know it's coming. Sometimes it all went wrong early on, and those times were easier. Sometimes it all went wrong much too late when they already loved you, and those times broke them.

Maybe just the faintest phantom memory of what that loss felt like slips through on Y/N's next "first day" of the job (if we're sticking to Eclipse having the memories, then it'd be a fun thought to consider the tiniest of memories slipping through sometimes), and Sun and Moon are both confused by the sudden wave of relief-desperation-anguish-love-guilt-guilt-guilt they randomly feel upon Sun meeting you. The feeling's easy to discard, but they don't understand why it happened. They suspect it to be a bug. Just a quick second of confusion in the programming that runs what emotions they feel.

After the loops, Sun and Moon remember every single day they spent genuinely believing Y/N was gone forever, and that hurts. And honestly, I'm caught between saying "they never let go of Y/N afterwards" and "they're too scared to hold Y/N anymore." Perhaps it's both. Perhaps they want to hold onto Y/N, and Y/N is the one who has to help them learn that's okay. I did put post-loops Y/N down as "very cuddly," after all.

Mm. Anyway. I should sleep

[actaghead]

vash volume 10, I made this too so might as well post it

[hauntedghostpuppy]

who has done this to you...?

Reaper killed Joe ✨️ i wanted to draw Bugbo finding him cuz i thought that would be cool

[howlsofbloodhounds]

How do you have so many ideas about the chromatic crew??? My only thoughts about them only come to me in the shower 😭😭

Obsession.

[jixiani]

So I've been working on a thing...I had started a Marco/Bones in the Ocean comic a while ago, but ended up going back and scrapping it. I did a lot of reworking and was going to turn it into an animatic, but I still have way too much to learn about animation (not ruling out that it won't still eventually become one, I'm just doing out the comic right now because I need to get this thing out of my head).

Anyway, apologies in advance, our boy's gonna be going through it. Figured I should put the warnings on this before I get to the darker bits. If you aren't familiar with the song Bones in the Ocean by the Longest Johns, it's about survivor's guilt. A sailor who lost their crew sails out to try to join them. I'm not sure how to put content warnings in a post, I'm going to be tagging this but figured I'd add a warning as well that there will be themes of attempted suicide in this, but there will be a happy ending (or at least a bitter sweet one).

This isn't completely done, so it may be a bit between postings, but I'm going to try to get this out in a semi-regular fashion.

[nani-nonny]

I’m struggling to find some momentary peace right now so I wrote down what I’m thinking like a diary of sorts

This is more for me so I apologize if I upset anyone. Maybe someone else will find comfort in this like I have, I don’t know. I just need this off my chest for now.

I never liked to imagine the death of my loved ones. I never liked to imagine the death of my dogs, knowing they would pass sooner than me. But sometimes I’m reminded of their short lifespans and I imagined what I would do to make their final day the best they deserved for the right send-off.

I’d imagine giving them all the snacks a dog wasn’t supposed to have. Burgers. Grapes. Chocolate. Anything their little hearts desired but I couldn’t give because they still had so much to live for.

I’d imagine their last walk in a stroller, their last time to the beach. Bring them in a blanket and pillows so they were comfortable.

I’d imagine the pupcup they would eat and how wide their eyes would get while eating it.

I’d imagine saying my goodbye with a final kiss on the snout.

But I never imagined that I would get a phone call in the final moments of my chemistry lab. I’d never imagine checking my phone and seeing the text that I should find the time to excuse myself from the room and call back. I’d never imagine the call I got from my sibling, their voice muffled and overpowered by uncontrolled sniffles and sobs that they were going to put my nine year old dog to rest because she developed a cancer in her spleen that reached her heart. I’d never imagined that the last time I would be seeing my dog was when she was strapped to a gurney and her left leg taped as she could barely control her breathing.

I didn’t get the chance to say the goodbye I imagined. I didn’t get to give her the pup cup or the burger. The chocolate or the grapes. I didn’t get to walk her in a stroller and visit the beach. I didn’t get to lake my final memory of her a good one.

My memory of her is scorned by the gurney. My memory is scorned by the feeling of dread when I called my sibling back. My memory is scorned by the cold that developed my fingertips, the shaking of my hands as I packed my bag and cleaned my lab station. My memory is scorned by the tears I shed in the car ride to the vet emergency care. My memory is scorned by the final photo I have of her when we couldn’t explain why her legs weren’t moving earlier that day.

And I’m angry. I’m furious. I’m enraged.

I didn’t get to say my proper goodbye. I didn’t get to see my baby grow to her elder years. I didn’t get to see her grow old with my other dog, her older sister. I didn’t get to do anything I hated to imagine. And I didn’t get to spend her final day with her because we didn’t know it would be her last.

My entire being feels so numb and yet I feel so much swirling within me that it all doesn’t feel real.

It all feels so unreal to me that I keep thinking I’ll turn around and see her laying in her bed waiting for everyone to start turning in for the night like routine. I lay in my bed, hear my mother go to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and I expected a wet nose nudge my toe so I would scoot over and let her lay down next to me.

And nothing hurt more than the realization that she won’t be coming.

She never came.

And she never will again.

I miss my dog. My best friend. My puppy.

I wish I could restart the day so I could spend it with her instead of leaving for class. I wish we could have discovered that cancer before it reached her heart, before it left her spleen. I wish she would come into my room right now and nudge me so I would scoot over. And I wish my other family dog, her older sister, never has to realize her little sister is gone. Because I’d hate to see that happy face disappear. It’s what’s keeping me sane. It’s what’s keeping me from utterly falling apart because I know she needs me too.

I need my dogs. I need my best friends. I need my family back.

What I don’t need is to look through old photos so I can find the perfect one to frame with her collar. What I don’t need is the realization that one of my paw tattoos has suddenly become a memorial on my skin. What I don’t need is this empty feeling in my being. And I definitely don’t need the constant reminder ringing in my head that she is gone and will never come back.

I love you, my little bear. I love you, my sweet girl. I love you, my little bundle of Freedom.

[saltwaterandstars]

A bit of emotional personal processing.

We have two enormous floor to ceiling cupboards in our dining room and they've been crammed full of paperwork and assorted personal stuff for many years. When my mum died (a long time ago) I dumped a lot of stuff from her house in these cupboards because I just couldn't deal with it all at the time while also trying to function at work and in my life generally. Anyway, over the last few months I've finally begun to sort through the contents and there's no getting around the fact that it's really grim, upsetting work. Occasionally I find something surprising or lovely, like a bag of jewellery that belonged to my nan:

But mostly it is not fun. I don't enjoy spending hours at a time transported back to my distant past, especially when I don't know what I'm going to unearth next. On Friday I came across a box of my old school work, I think from the start of my A levels - when I was sixteen. The things I knew then! I feel so tenderly and fiercely protective towards my young self who in many ways was having a very hard time but who was still grappling with maths and chemistry and physics. Who was that girl?! I feel tearful just typing this, in part because I know how difficult life was for her at that age. But also because I see a pattern already in place - the outward appearance of competence/functioning/success while inside being hollowed out and on fire and taking a bleak, shame-driven pride in no one having a clue about any of it. It's a pattern that's been repeated many times through my life, and I'd say a big part of my life's work thus far has been to close the gap between who and how I am on the inside, and what I show/how I appear on the outside. I've made a fair amount of progress over the years, and I definitely hold myself and my struggles with much more kindness than I ever did, but I don't think any of us gets to have a complete personality change so I think there'll always be echoes of this stuff around. So yeah, fun times going through the cupboards.

I was thinking about what to do with the thirty or so school books I found. I definitely don't want to keep them but I also don't want to just unceremoniously dump them in the rubbish bin. So I've decided to ceremoniously bin them. My plan is to put them all in a big paper sack I've got, decorate the sack in a way my sixteen year old self would have liked, acknowledge the work and struggles and triumphs the books represent, wrap them up carefully, and then gently place them in the recycling bin. It feels really important to let them go but not to throw them away in a disrespectful way, so I think this is a good way forward.

[skygemspeaks]

i'm 2/3 of the way through my first readthrough of grief of stones, and even though the cemetaries of amalo are grittier than the goblin emperor (especially since this one deals with csa and cp), there's still a lot of gentleness in the books, and i really love that they focus so much on friendship rather than romance.

i need to find a way to get my hands on a physical copy of the orb of cairado (preferably for less than 60 CAD, which is RIDICULOUS for a 120 page novella)

[sleepyfan-blog]

Funeral Preparations One

Author’s Note: This is the next part in Cedric’s adventures in the Astartes Husbandry AU, and specifically the Introducing New Primaris Black Templars arc. For other adventures click here and here. First. Previous. Next.  

Tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34 @undeaddream

Warnings: Feelings of being overwhelmed, grief, funerary practices, consumption of humans (ashes), mention of cremation, hurt/comfort

Summary: Cedric talks to Lykus about his dead brothers and funerary practices. 

Cedric made his way to the beautiful church where he’d encountered Chaplain Lykus, silently wishing that he was seeking the other out for less unhappy reasons. The young Black Templar paused in the entrance room of the church, allowing himself a couple of moments to once more silently appreciate the beautiful stained-glass images that made the windows of the church. 

Feeling slightly calmer, he made his way over to Lykus’ office, knocking on the door and waiting for the other marine to acknowledge him.

“Please come in.” The Word Bearer called out a couple of moments later.

“Yes sir.” Cedric responded before obeying. He closed the door quietly behind himself as he walked over to one of the chairs in front of Lykus’ desk and sat in the one made for Astartes, trying to keep a calm expression on his face. 

Lykus smiled a little as he looked Cedric over. “Good afternoon Cedric. What can I do to help you?”

Cedric fidgeted with the bandages on his hands a little, as he’d decided to wrap up his skinned knuckles after his brief fight with Algrets earlier today rather than waiting for them to heel… And it was bad form to show up to a strange Chaplain’s office visibly injured. And not tended to. It invited scrutiny and potential punishment. “I…I’ve come to make a request.”

“Is this about finding a time and day where you and your Brothers can gather to worship without dealing with comments and judgment?” Lykus asked curiously.

“... It is somewhat related to that.” Cedric answered, biting the inside of one of his cheeks until it bled. The physical pain helped him keep his roiling emotions in check. He wanted to keep his voice even and calm, and show no outward signs of distress or emotional weakness. It would slow things down, and Lykus was not the only person he needed to talk to today. 

“Please explain, and I’ll offer what assistance I am able to… Are you alright? You seem… Unsettled.” Lykus asked, his gaze lingering on the bandages that Cedric was fidgeting with.

“I am functional.” The young apothecary answered as he immediately put his hands in his lap, out of the other’s line of sight. He swallowed hard, mentally counting to ten before answering in as even and unemotional a tone of voice as he could manage “Recently, two Black Templars arrived on Holy Terra, critically wounded. Despite every effort to save them, both died. I, and the rest of the unofficial Crusade who live here in Gannet Point would like to put them to rest properly, in the manner that our chapter does. I was hoping to have the memorial service portion of that completed here, within this church, if you are willing. There would be maybe a dozen people attending, most if not all of them being Astartes. The service would not be longer than an hour, as both Black Templars who died  were apprentices… The term I believe your legion uses is Scouts, so the recitation of their deeds and greatest battles will not… Not take very long.”

Lykus seemed to be listening intently to Cedric as he spoke. Once he finished, the Word Bearer took a long sip from the astartes-sized thermos on his desk and swallowed before answering “Do you know when you would like the service to be held? Apart from Sunday mass and Wednesday bible studies, most of this next week is fairly open, though there are smaller services that are going on for an hour or two at a time throughout the week, most of them can easily be rescheduled due to an event like this. What is the plan for their bodies, once the service is over?”

“Their bodies will be burnt to ash and the remains will be forged into Blades of Remembrance per the custom of our chapter.” Well… Some of their remains would be used in forging Blades of Remembrance the rest would be consumed as part of the remembrance feast, but that was going to be taken place after the bodies had been cremated and the blades forged and tested. Cedric was keenly aware of the fact that consuming the dead was not a practice that most Astartes chapters practiced except under dire circumstances, or to get information from the dead. “But the burning of their bodies and forging of the blades will happen elsewhere.”

“I see. Do you have an idea as to where their bodies are going to be burnt? The baseline mortals have laws about where such a task can be completed, for a variety of reasons.” Lykus revealed, having slowly gotten up out of his chair and started to walk around his desk, moving closer to Cedric. He sat down in the chair next to Cedric’s.

“... Oh. I hadn’t known that.” Cedric responded, shifting a little in his seat, trying not to visibly tense up at the other’s approach. “I… I’ll have to.. Research an appropriate place, then. Which is probably going to delay the memorial service and-” It felt as if there was a never ending list of things that he had to do in order to try and ensure that his brothers could properly Rest - or come back and serve in another way, should their spirits decide to inhabit one of the Blades of Remembrance forged with their remains, as that did happen occasionally. 

“I do have the phone number for several different funeral homes and crematoriums. Funerals and other kinds of rituals involving mourning the loss of a loved one are commonly held in churches and similar places of worship such as this one in M3.” Lykus explained, voice gentle and… He sounded almost coaxing? As if he was trying to coax a spooked serf out of an air vent after a minor misstep that they weren’t going to be punished for accidentally committing. “If you wish, I can either introduce you to the mortals in charge of those places I know, or give you their numbers so you can talk to them at your own pace.”

Cedric stared at the carpeted floor of Lykus’ office as he tried to make that decision. On one hand, part of him balked at the implication that he needed someone to help him talk to baseline humans. On the other, the young Apothecary was struggling to keep a handle on the roiling warp-storm his emotions had become after… After Lestras and Malachai had both been found and he’d been unable to save them. He was still seething at the fact that he hadn’t been allowed to observe as Chief Apothecary Melinth and several other firstborn Apothecaries did their best to save Malachai. “I…” His voice cracked and his eyes stung and burned fiercely as a wave of emotions he could not name threatened to overwhelm him.

Lykus dragged Cedric out of his seat and pressed his face to one of the Word Bearer’s robed shoulders “Easy… Easy. I’ve got you,young one. You’re going through a great deal right now - please don’t try to fight me, I am trying to comfort you. I’m honored that you reached out to me… But isn’t there a chaplain in the base you live in you could go to, to help you arrange things?”

“I do! Ramiel is doing his best, but he… He’s also struggling with the loss of two of our Brothers as well. Even… Even though they’d only just arrived on Holy Terra.” Losing them twice was a unique form of torment for both Ramiel and himself. Cedric felt a little strange, being held by the older Marine, but the hug didn’t feel threatening… Also hiding his face in the other’s shoulder helped Cedric keep pressure on the emotional fissures running through his hearts “He’s also going through his chaplaincy trials.”

“... Are you referring to the Chaplain in training? I’ve met him a couple of times, and he’s a clever and good-hearted lad, but to arrange something like this might be a little out of his area of training on his own.” Lykus murmured, a small frown appearing on his face. 

“That’s why I’m helping him by finding a place to hold the ceremony, and apparently a place to have Malachai’s and Lestra’s bodies burnt without causing problems… And before you say anything, I am aware of the fact that there are facilities on base to process dead astartes. But I don’t want them to handle their bodies. They’ve done quite enough already.” Ah. That was a lot of bitterness leaking in his voice. 

Lykus’ arms tightened around Cedric, but it didn’t feel restricting in a worrying or threatening manner. “I see.” 

There’s an astartes sized hand on Cedric’s head, now. Fingers running through his hair. It feels… It feels soothing, and why can’t he stop crying today? This is the second time in a handful of hours his tear ducts have decided to leak all over a firstborn Space Marine. It was embarrassing, and something that he would need to look into, later. “We’re doing our best… Just gotta get it done quickly.” Cedric didn’t want either Malachai’s or Lestra’s bodies to mysteriously disappear, if they lingered for too long in the base’s morgue. He’d denied others their desire to tear apart their bodies once, after all. They might give into temptation, the longer it was there. “Ramiel says it’s going to take him several days to get the stuff he needs together so… Maybe on Saturday? I’ll have a firmer answer for you tomorrow, or the day after. And… Assistance in speaking with the mortals would be nice. I don’t know how to negotiate with them for goods and services.”

Lykus hummed in acknowledgement, still hugging Cedric. “Alright. I’ll arrange for meetings. When are you up to speaking with them? I should be able to get an appointment sometime this week.”

“I’m going to be working in the clinic for the next several days, but that’s only from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, so I’ll be available outside of those times easily. If they’ll only meet sometime during it I… I can either ask Ramiel to go instead, or sneak out for the appointment time. Hura and Zariel’d cover for me, as long as the appointments don’t take too long.” Cedric murmured. He tensed a little as he realized that he admitted to being willing to skive off of his assigned duties to a chaplain - even thinking such things was a sin worthy of punishment. He swallowed hard and waited. 

Lykus only hummed again in response, the hand in Cedric’s hair still gentle and soothing. “I’ll keep that in mind, while arranging the appointments. Is there anything else I can do to help you and your brother Ramiel during this time?”

“I… I don’t think so? At least, not on my end. I’ll tell Rami to come talk to you. He may need help with Chaplain Things that he can’t or won’t talk to me about ‘cause I’m not a chaplain.” Cedric answered earnestly. He snuffled a little, pressing his face a little harder into the other’s shoulder, his body shaking a little. 

“Alright. Well, if you do think of something, or if something comes up, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.” Lykus hummed “Do you have any pressing matters to handle today?”

“Need to tell my Crusade leaders’ ‘bout the dead Brothers. They live with their bonded in the city. They… Don’t know yet. Gotta do that before sundown. ‘Cause the Base Commander’s given me a curfew to be back at the base by.” Cedric responded, anger - an old and familiar feeling of his breaking through the misery he was trying not to drown in - spiking.

“Hmm? Why’s that?” The chaplain asked curiously.

“Got into a fight with a Space Wolf ‘cause he was being a shitty bastard about my dead brothers. He whined about not getting to cut them up with his mentor and I… Didn’t react well to his complaints.” Cedric admitted. He refused to apologize for striking and strangling the fucker.

“I can understand why that would upset you. Space Wolves, while brilliant fighters are… Difficult to endure in certain social situations.” Lykus hummed. The Word Bearer seemed content to hold Cedric for forever, it seemed.

Which was nice, if a little disconcerting. He hasn’t hugged someone who wasn’t a fellow Primaris Marine this long… Ever. The other’s embrace was helping him find balance, at least for now. Much as he’d like to linger for as long as the Chaplain would tolerate, Cedric was starting to feel ravenous . Which was odd, as he’d been feeling mildly nauseous during the morning (before and during his brothers’ autopsies) and had then been too upset to so much as think about eating anything… “I should go and get something to eat, then talk to my Crusade leaders. I… Thank you, for your help, and for… This.” He squeezed the Word Bearer gently “It’s… It’s helped quite a bit.”

“I do have some astartes-grade snacks in my desk, if you’d like company while you eat.” Lykus offered with a gentle smile, slowly letting Cedric go.

The Primaris marine shook his head as he slowly got up “Thank you for the offer sir, but I should eat a full meal.”

“Very well. Thank you for coming to me, and I’ll message you when the appointments are scheduled.” Lykus murmured, smiling a little.

“Thank you sir.” Cedric answered with a nod, hurriedly wiping the tears from his face before leaving. He planned on stopping by the base to eat and change - as he’d managed to partially soak his own shirt with his tears, and even though the walk over would dry it… The last thing he wanted to do was to show up in Roland’s Beloved’s bakery smelling of tears (and Word Bearer) with red-rimmed eyes. He’s pretty sure that would end really badly.

[nmolesofadrenaline]