#cw grief mention

[writtenbyevie]

spirit 🌬️ for the elemental writer asks!!

isa, my love hi 💫!! thank you very kindly for the ask 💖

Spirit: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received on your writing?

Oh god, I treasure every piece of feedback I receive. I am dragon and kind words are my gold 💛🐉

That being said, I get a weird amount of joy from key smashes! I just find them incredibly endearing and it always makes me smile. I also really, really love it when people tell me particular lines or moments they enjoyed. It gives me something tangible to be proud of.

But the best compliment(s) I’ve ever received is a tie between two things.

1. The people who told me they thought I was good enough to publish. That’s MIND BLOWING to me and truly inspiring. I want to write professionally one day and have a lot of original work sitting on my computer. I just need to get up the nerve and those pieces of encouragement really help.

2. The most proud I’ve ever been of my writing was the times I’ve emotionally moved people through it. Mostly recently, I read a piece about the experience of watching a loved one slowly pass to a few friends and they openly cried. Not in a trauma porn sort of way, but in “this rings true to me” sort of way. So not only was the process of creating that story cathartic for me, but it was also healing for those who read it.

I don’t think I could ever ask for anything more than that :’)

Anywhoooooooo, as usual, I ended up rambling!! Thank you Isa for the ask again. You are an angel among us!! ✨💛💫

[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.

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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. 

[reasonsforhope]

I can't take the state of the world anymore, every day things constantly get worse and there's literally nothing we can do. Every time things get better they're immediately undone by forces more powerful than us. I just want things to go back to the way they were before when it felt like there was hope, now it feels like humanity is doomed and will never, ever get better. I just want to die so I can finally know peace from this evil.

Hey. I'm really, really sorry you're having such a hard time. That sounds like an incredibly painful headspace to be in.

Please find someone you can talk to and who can help you - whether that's a peer counselor or a good friend or a trained mental health professional. Especially a trained mental health professional, if you can. You can find a really thorough list of crisis hotlines listed by country here.

Also, I realllllly recommend getting off any websites or social media that are contributing to you feeling like this, or at least block all the people/tags posting things that are making you feel like this. Negativity bias is real - the news/internet doesn't accurately reflect the world and neither does the way your brain perceives it

In the meantime, a few quick words/facts of comfort. I hope they can give you at least some reassurance or solace.

We literally have more reason to hope we can solve climate change than ever before x

Starting about six months ago, major international energy reports have come out for the first time showing that we have a visible, concrete path to staying under 1.5 degrees celsius x

Twenty, even ten years ago, scientists talked about whether we could possibly manage to limit global warming to 4 or 5 degrees Celsius. Now, those numbers aren't even on the map - we're talking 1.5 or 2 degrees Celsius. We've cut expected warming in half in under a decade x

Renewable energy is growing so exponentially it's now "unstoppable" x

Two hundred years ago, in 1800, there wasn't a single "liberal democracy" - a democracy that gives all citizens the right to vote - on the planet. Just over one hundred years ago, in 1900, there were five of them. Today, roughly half the countries (aka roughly 100) on the planet fall into this category. International politics is so often two steps forward, one step back, but this is actually an astonishing pace of progress in the grand scheme of things x

For all of human history, until just over 200 years ago, roughly half of all children died. Across times, across cultures. Half of all children died by the age of 15. Half of them. Today, globally, that same child mortality rate is only 4%. We did that. We changed what was previously an eternal, inescapable, and horrific condition of human existence, and we are going to keep making that rate go down x

Two steps forward, one step back, is still moving forward. There are so, so, so many reasons that we are not already doomed. There are so many reasons to think the future is going to be bright

To anyone struggling with thoughts like this: please, please give yourself the chance to see it

[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

[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.

[wyvchard]

A Crane in a Phoenix's Nest

The Handler visits Agent Phoenix's apartment after the elevator crash.

Content Warnings: Spoilers for The Spy and The Liar, Grief, Angst, Mild gore, References to WWII

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Handler walks into the apartment building, steps heavy as he began his ascent to his dead agent's floor.

His hand gripped the railing tightly as the cycle of steps, turn a corner, steps blurred together until he ceased.

They should've been here. Not-

He pressed onto the cold metal bar with one squeeze before letting go, taking a breath as he left the stairway.

The cream walls were lit up by incandescent bulbs that were newly replaced. Each door was uniform, save for the number in front of it. The ceiling was low, giving the illusion it would crush him in the midst of his grief.

His hand was shaking when he brought out his their spare key. It contained a pebble with a smiley drawn on it, with the loop connecting it to from the pin of the grenade they'd thrown out of the escape pod.

The door was gently pried, as his old training returning to him. The room smelled of dust, yet hints of the patchouli candle they'd received from him mingled seamlessly with it.

Darkness from blacked out windows halted his ability to see, yet bringing out a flashlight would only arise suspicion. He took a step inside, locking the door behind him as he searched for the light switch.

He was greeted with light blue walls, a reminder of the tenacious requests to see if they can change the walls to something more sensory than the standard white most agency housing were given.

Two pairs A pair of bunny slippers caught his attention. There was a space for shoes right beside it.

It really shouldn't have mattered if he wore his shoes inside. And yet, his hands reached out to the bunny slippers, which slipped perfectly on his feet.

When he got up, he noticed the bowl with scratches on them. He looked at his their key before placing it inside. A wry smile grips his face as he saw the blue 'wall' peel to reveal white.

He'd seen the interior of their apartment before, from the feed of their ocular implant just like that elevator. However, there can only be so much a person can see themselves through their eyes.

The living room was sparse, consisting of a couch and a few chairs. In front of it was a radio that remained unplugged. His eyes never left it for a few moments. There was no wall that separated the kitchen, its countertops and cabinets left empty.

There were magnets on the fridge, one of which matched the one he'd received when they returned from their vacation. He felt a slight shiver at the note Zor left for them that was pinned right behind it.

Many more littered the front, some labeled with names he recognized, others not so much. There were gaps between the magnets, earning him another memory when they shoved magnets through his door slot as protest for not letting them bring it inside the van.

He kept those magnets inside his home after he found them when he was looking through their agency dossier.

It was a cruel reminder that he already made a bookmark of their death date before they even made it to the shuttle. It must be his punishment for choosing to move on that quickly before he even knew them.

And now, he was once again forced to see another casualty as a person, bringing him back to the time a friend another soldier clung to his arm, begging him to tell him they loved their folks.

He looked back at the radio, dinged with scratches from being well loved. Were they listening to the radio while he ran from the bombs and bullets that threatened to take his life, along with many others? Or were they too young to even remember what was going on?

He slightly shook his head as he briefed his mind once again, telling him to focus on finding their documents.

Their bedroom was tidy, unlike the chaos they'd left behind.

The bed was made, white sheets and pillows contrasting the colored bolster they affectionately called a "hotdog".

The dust on the desk filled in the space where a case of pens stood, an unopened box of colored pens right beside it. He gently pried the drawers, only to see most empty, ink stains faded.

He'd found a stack of letters in a plastic envelope, sealed with tape. He checked for any traps before he pried it open.

He wished he hadn't.

It contained the autopsy reports of EOD agents "neutralized" by Zoraxis, its grizzly image burning into his mind. Their families' blood pooled onto tile floor, fear and terror into their eyes.

The sketch behind it was worse. A lone body hidden amongst grass. In the corner of the frame, he saw a severed neck. In the background were a seemingly endless line of soldiers carrying what seemed to be body bags, every figure lanky and malnourished.

"I don't know, Mason. I think the Agency would allow that to happen again if Zoraxis triggers a war. I'd probably come back in that case. Though I wish nobody at home takes up this life. But we'll never know."

The bayonet blade in the envelope confirmed his suspicions. They weren't allowed to stop, or else they'd lose their life. He'd heard the stories from one of the older field agents who came from the other side of the war.

Anna was right. I couldn't leave this life behind.

His parse through the rest of the contents barely registered in his mind, not even when there were discussions about John Juniper in some letters, and a relationship chart with checks and scribbles.

He doesn't even want to remember that blasted actor.

The contents were gently put back as he turned to the closet.

Of course a safe would be there, barely even hidden, as if they left a trap. As if to taunt whoever was looking around. He knew that if he gets this wrong, he would suffer the consequences.

Agent Phoenix shook their head sadly when Anna the defector told them the passcode was her birthday.

He thought long and hard before he pressed the buttons. Part of him felt sick when he remembered he blanked out what their favorite color was in the frenzy of their kidnapping.

It was the day they'd joined the Agency.

The files he'd needed were there, immaculate and neatly prepared as if waiting for him like he's waiting for them.

He shouldn't stay here.

The safe was closed, along with the many other places he'd pried open, as if no one had been there.

However, he did change one thing. He'd turned off the main breaker before he left with their documents and the plastic envelope.

He could use a drink. Or two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dang that was long.

I wrote angst again. Whoops. Someone please comfort our handler. He's had it rough.

@phoenix-and-found-family

@the-one-and-only-043

@ghostlystarwanderer (if you wanna be taken off, please tell me)

[alibonbonn]

Of all mythological characters, Thetis' grief resonates the most with me. The loss of her son is so final, more final than mortals losing each other- mortals might still meet each other in the land of the dead when all comes to pass. Somehow her sorrow feels the most like grieving a loved one who was of a different religion, you know what I mean? Like...we're not going to the same place! and I hope they've made peace with that before their time.

[losertwink]

stardew valley headcannons (part one!)

im going to start occasionally posting batches of my stardew valley headcannons because god i love stardew valley and i must share!

cw: mentions of homophobic family, alcohol, and alcoholism

sebastian is wasian! his dad (robin's ex) is asian.

demetrius is autistic

maru gets a lot of silk presses, which is why her hair is straight. her hair is a bit damaged as a result.

if the farmer does not marry haley or alex, they choose to get together to be each other's beards (companions)

in relation to the last one, haley and emily's parents are homophobic & alex is afraid to come out to his grandparents due to them being "old-fashioned", which is why they choose to become each other's beards

Pam started drinking more heavily after her husband died

[pamela-lntt]

guess who fell in love with another podcast ?! :D

Not much to say other than this was fun... oh and that I based the base colors on the podcast's logo !!

How I assigned it to each character was what we've learned about them and their respective reactions to grief? Like Matt going into a more depressive state hence the blue and Emily 's grief being more invasive which made me think of red. David seeming to be a bit more positive? Seeing the good things in life despite of which led to the bright green... I don't think we have learned much from Lillian's POV beside her being distant (but that's mainly Matt and Emily's doing), but I hope we do so soon !! :,0 but also because of that I saw her with the pink, especially because when we do see her she seems pretty calm and collected.

Anyways... listen to The Grotto if you haven't !! (but check content warnings before doing so!)

Like my art? Consider buying me a coffee!

[captain-gillian]

fic pride friday

Rules: Post your favorite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tag @lemonlyman-dotcom i'm using this to try and be kinder to myself in how i think about my own writing

strays (5 + 1 of TK attempting to bring home a 'pet' from a call, Nancy POV)

“Carlos has been talking about maybe getting a cat…” TK muses. Here we go again , Nancy thinks.  There’s no mistaking the look on her partner’s face; she’s seen it more times than she can count—he wants to take this wild animal home. She knows his heart is in the right place, but the sooner Carlos relents and lets him get a cat—or a fish, or a hamster even, any kind of pet—the better as far as she’s concerned because talking him out of bringing home new ‘pets’ every week gets exhausting. “Dude, stop, don’t even say it.”  “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.” “I know you, TK. You were going to suggest that murder mittens over there might be a good cat for you and Carlos to adopt, but the answer is no.” “Murder mittens? Look at him, Nancy—he’s just a little baby.” TK says, gazing longingly across the room at the tiger cub. “TK, I can’t believe we even need to have this conversation. You can’t raise a tiger in a downtown apartment. Tigers aren’t pets, or did you forget why we ended up here in the first place?" “Oh, but look at him. He’s only a baby. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “This week, he’s a baby, sure. But do you know what babies do, TK? They grow up, and then you will be the one calling 911 because your 200-pound murder kitty went for the jugular, and when that happens, I’m not coming to save your ass, dude.”

nothing a kiss better can't fix (soft tarlos)

“Seriously, it’s nothing, TK,” Carlos says as he leans against the back of the 126 ambulance with his worried fiancé methodically checking him over.  “It’s not nothing, Carlos. You’re bleeding .” TK tells him, trying to gently guide him towards the stretcher. “Now, will you please sit down and let me treat you?” “I’m okay, TK. Breathe,” Carlos says, taking his fiancé’s hand. “This is nothing a kiss better can’t fix.”  “Is a kiss better for a certain flu-riddled fiancé of yours, perhaps exactly how you ended up in this situation, dude?” Nancy asks with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. “First of all, I’m not ‘flu riddled’,” TK tells her, putting dramatic air quotes around his words. “And second, how do you know about that?”  “When are you going to just admit I know everything,” Nancy tells him with a grin before adding. “Also, you’re both, like, hella predictable.”

sugar, butter, flour (5 + 1 TK and Gwyn baking)

His father and Carlos have always assured him that Jonah will know her through him, but as they stand in the kitchen, he wonders how he can ever live up to the task. TK is uncomfortably aware of the ache of grief in his chest alongside a sharp streak of guilt. Guilt that he got 28 years of her love but spent so many of them pushing it away, too deep in the spiral of addiction to accept it. Those were years Jonah will never get, and TK wasted them.

and again (nancymarjan)

And then before she can dwell on it any further, the countdown hits midnight, the fireworks start in the distance, and Marjan kisses her. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, and while Nancy has never been a believer in destiny or soulmates, right now, at this moment, it’s undeniable that Marjan is her soulmate. 

when everythings made to be broken (introspective carlos/a 4x01 coda)

He takes a deep breath and silently tells himself, “You can do this,” and suddenly, he’s nineteen again and doing whatever he can to be a good son and live up to expectations. He’s standing at the altar trying to convince himself he can do this, that somehow he’ll be able to love her like he’s supposed to—like God wants him to—because his parents need him to, his family needs him to. He’s silently praying that, in time, he’ll be able to love like she deserves. She’s his best friend, and he can learn to love her like this, surely—he owes her that. But it doesn’t work out—despite his best efforts, he can’t love her the way she deserves, so he moves out, and she starts dating again, and he’s ready to drown in his shame. And then she disappears, and as the months drag on without a single credible lead, he goes through all the stages. 

no pressure tagging

@fallout-mars @paperstorm @literateowl

@reyesstrand @welcometololaland

[pan-magi]

The Alma Tran arc should have emphasized more on religious trauma and indoctrination. In this essay, I will-

[minecraftrelatedrandomness]

but i'm gonna be here 'til forever (so just call when you're around) | 1,674 words

"I don't know what to do. I mean, we're gonna need to talk eventually… but… what do you talk about? 'Hey, sorry you abandoned us and disappeared for a year and a half without any communication!' When someone's been out of your life that long with zero knowledge of where they are, you… you go through all stages, eventually… the mourning and then accepting stage… or at least I did." — Scott, July 31st livestream

Alternately, Scott having to learn to cope with his brother being "lost at sea", only to be found again over a year later, and the lead-up to the brothers' reconciliation.

CW: Aurelia and Hudson Denholm's A+ parenting, discussions of character death, grief, mental health issues.

Written for @ilexdiapason for the @mcyt-trick-or-treat!