#grief and mourning rituals!!!

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(awhile ago, i played an ask game in which i was asked to make a story involve MCD and one of the answers i gave was: postcard from paris.

so...i present, a postcard from paris au. you don't need to read the first fic, just the second chapter and you're good to go.

xoxo)

greener grass (the greenest growing)

part 1: a beautiful day

Remus stood awkwardly in the corner of the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, looking out the open window at the blue skies that were a perfect contrast to the heavy velvet curtains and the mood from inside the house. Glass of wine in his hand, knuckles turning white from gripping the stem so hard, only half hearing Sirius's voice telling him he was an uncultured swine--a barbarian-- for letting his fingers touch the glass.

Remus didn't pretend to have a culture in the first place, glancing down at his feet where his black dress shoes were untied and scuffed on the toe. Suit and tie, dressed in a sort of costume he hadn't wanted to put on that morning before attending the service, caught somewhere at the intersection of denial, disbelief, and dread. He typically loved going to Number 12.

They had spent birthdays and New Year's there, celebrating milestones with joy the way Sirius and Kingsley knew how to do.

Going away parties and promotion parties.

Baby showers and welcome back parties.

And now they were here.

The house was filled with small talk and music from a record player that felt more eerie than ambient. It made Remus's hair stand on edge the way everyone passed along platitudes and placations; it made him roll his eyes when he walked in and saw security scanning people's wands. Death apparently wasn't a big enough occasion to warrant privacy, treating the service and the reception as another charity gala or event of the season. And not something terrible that had happened.

He took a sip of his wine, teeth on edge as a woman's overly shrill laughter rang through the halls.

It should have been Sirius's obnoxious laughter. Not hers.

Remus stepped towards the window, slumping over to rest his forehead on the glass, eyeing the white roses that framed the backyard of Number 12.

"I think he reinforced the glass, so if you're thinking of taking a nose dive..."

Remus pulled his forehead off the window and turned around over his shoulder to the sound of the familiar voice. Familiarity was supposed to bring comfort, or so the saying goes, but it sent knots straight to Remus's stomach.

Though, at this point, his stomach had been in knots for two weeks, what was a few more?

"Looks like I've been thwarted then," Remus murmured, not quite making eye contact with the man in front of him. James gave a half-grin that quickly fell from his face, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his hair.

Nearly 40 and he still had a full head, not a strand of grey in sight. Meanwhile, Remus had bags under his eyes the size of carry-on luggage and more grey hair than he could count.

"How are you doing, Moons?"

"That's a stupid question to ask. How are you?"

James opened his mouth and closed it again, walking into the drawing room after shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, robes hanging over his shoulders. It was strange. James in all black, when normally James took every opportunity to wear bright magenta's and purples.

Yellow's and bright oranges, mirroring a sunset in the sky or extravagant city lights in the night. Remus had once thought James was the Eiffel Tower-- the real fucking thing that was it for him-- only to have the fantasy crumble when James hadn't followed through.

Again.

Leaving Remus waiting and disappointed.

Again.

Not that Remus had put the effort in either...again.

They went around and around, and now James was in black robes, and Remus was holding a wine glass, and they were in the same room for the first time in seven years.

"You're right...stupid question."

"Cheers," Remus raised his glass, finishing the contents in a long gulp.

"Is the wine good at least?"

"Would it be a Black party if it wasn't?"

"Not much of a party."

"That bint from the Ministry with the hat might disagree..."

"Oh, her..." James muttered, shaking his head, looking as if he was about to say something, but he stopped himself again. Remus knew that look--that feeling. He had been wearing it and feeling it for the past two weeks since he got the news.

"Yeah."

"I...I know it's been a while..." Remus snorted, "And I know...we kind of fell apart--"

"You make it sound like an accident."

"Wasn't it?" asked James, "We...were young. Some things work out when you're young, and some things...just don't."

"I don't think that changes because we're older..." Remus finally met James's eyes, hazel sending him straight back to their best friend's wedding.

“I told you we’re not doing this.”

"Doing what?" James asked hands paused on the belt buckle of Remus's trousers, identical robes already shed behind them in the bedroom of Sirius's villa in France, bottle of champagne on the dresser.

"This! What we always do!It's so fucking stupid. We pretend its forever and then it ends the same. You leaving for work, and then we write letters for another two weeks and promise to floo and visit and you send me postcards and pictures but we never end up meeting until there’s some…function. And that's what happens, every single fucking time. When Sirius moved out, when Sirius got engaged, now he's married and unless he gets married again, I don't know when the hell I'm going to see you!"

It wasn't a wedding.

"This isn't a wedding," Remus told him.

"I know," James swallowed, "I don't know how I'll get through it wit--"

"Dad-- there you are!" a third voice came and this time both Remus and James turned around to greet it, "Why are you two being all dodgy by the window?" Harry asked, adjusting the glasses on his face.

It was cruel torture, the way Harry had grown up to look so much like his father and haunted the halls of Hogwarts for Remus. The privilege of watching Harry grow tainted by memories of his father and what if's from when Harry was younger.

"Were you looking for me, Haz?" James asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, we're kicking people out now, Mum says we can do it but someone needs to go sit with--"

"Sure," James nodded and inclined his head toward Remus. They easily fell into step again, as they left the safety of the drawing room. Side by side, one foot after another, a single unit, but it never stayed like that for long. They walked through the hall, Remus listening to Harry and Lily move people out the front door.

Thank you for coming.

It means so much.

"He didn't even like half these fucking twats..." James muttered under his breath.

"Don't need to tell me that..."

"Good."

The casserole was delicious.

"It tasted like feet," remarked Remus and James coughed out a laugh, just before they came to the sitting room.

A casket in the middle of the room, white roses around the base.

Vacated chairs.

Velvet curtains wide open

And Sirius sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands now that the room had cleared out, fingers frantically combing through his hair over and over again.

Ordinarily, Remus would've made a joke about how he was going to go bald.

But it didn't seem like the time.

"Habibi," James said gently, sitting next to Sirius on the couch and pulling hands out of his hair to hold them instead, "Did you have the feet casserole?"

Apparently it was the time.

"Feet casserole?" Sirius responded quietly, still staring down at the ground. "I think its technical name is Widower casserole."

"Mmmm no, I'm pretty sure its feet," James corrected, turning his head to look at Remus, "Remus had some."

We make a good team, Moons.

"A whole big toe," Remus nodded, before taking a breath and crossing to the other side of Sirius, "Budge over, where are your manners?"

"In my husband's casket, I think..."

"I'll put mine in there too," Remus agreed.

"You didn't have any to begin with," Sirius retorted and nudged Remus lightly with his shoulder.

They were three again.

James.

Sirius.

Remus.

On a couch.

Blue skies behind their heads.

James hands holding onto to Sirius so he wouldn't slip away.

Life lines.

"We have a week. To sit here...and...be with him one last time..." Sirius said softly, lifting his head up from the ground, and staring at the casket instead. His jaw was tight, muscles in his hands flexing over and over again against James's. "You think that'll do it?"

"Do...what?" asked Remus

"Help this feel less shitty?"

"No," Remus said bluntly, leaning back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. He felt two more thumps against the cushions in succession, seeing Sirius and James from his peripherals looking up all the same.

"But its...a beautiful day," James continued, "And...we're here."

Remus didn't have to look down to know it was James's hand on top of his knee.

Remus didn't even have to wait for the wine to kick in to know he would be absolutely fucked, once again, in ruins and shambles by the end of the week. It didn't matter that it was a funeral. It didn't matter that Remus had told himself he was too old to me making the mistakes of a twenty year old; thirty year old.

James's hand gave his knee a squeeze. An electric shock through his body, and Remus closed his eyes.

Here we go again.

[prehistoricmancunt]

"Spells are mourning rituals, and mourning rituals can be spells. When you light a candle for your deceased loved one, when you make a cup of coffee with them in mind, when you write them a letter then burn, bury, toss or save it, when you make a Morning Altar or do any other grief exercises I’ve written about before; if you do them with a certain intention, they can all become spells. 

And when you do any spell that centers on the life, death, and memory of your loved one, and the resulting grief, search for justice, peace, understanding, community, or fortitude to bear it all, you are engaging in a mourning ritual. Everything is everything.

In my dad’s house, he has my mom’s ashes, her funeral bulletin, her funeral card, sympathy cards, marathon medals, symbolic objects, trinkets, gifted art and books received after her death all on a shelf in his office. This is an altar, all it needs is intention.

Magic is in everything we do, whether we call it that or not. It doesn’t need to be the fairy godmother with her wings & wand, it can just be the kinetic energy of your body & love & intentions meeting the kinetic energy of herbs & stones & wind & candles & poems. Magic can be prayer & cooking & sweeping & kneeling & protesting & laughing & crying & grieving & mourning, it's doing it on purpose. Because my cells know their cells & your cells & those cells & its cells & her cells have all shuddered & undulated in the same big bang dust & universes & solar flares & the rain & the dinosaurs & & &&& …."

(excerpt from a substack post with a spell for justice, a spell for peace, and a spell for grief I'm working on)

[convexicalcrow]

An interlude, if that's the right word, for the Lost Prince AU. This scene has been in my head for months, but it became clear to me that it had to be a stand-alone piece. I can't just throw this into the third part and be done with it. And so I tried to write it a while back and got nowhere. So I left it. And as I was grinding the skele farm tonight, This Fic Decided It Wanted To Be Written, and so it has been. I am a little late going to bed as I have to be up early tomorrow for class, but I couldn't leave this one unfinished until tomorrow. It is done.

It does involve a mourning ritual, and addresses grief and ancestors and all that trauma, including references to animal death. It may be cathartic. It may not be. But be aware that's the content you're in for if you read this next part. It's short, but I cried a lot writing this. All the Feels came out for this one ngl.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

sometimes you read a post and go, "man, OP has truly never meaningfully met a jewish person, huh."

[greencheekconure27]

Olivia. Take the fool away.

Feste. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:

besides, you grow dishonest.

Feste. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel

will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is

the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend

himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if

he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing

that's mended is but patched: virtue that

transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that

amends is but patched with virtue. If that this

simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,

what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but

calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take

away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Feste. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non

facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not

motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to

prove you a fool.

Olivia. Can you do it?

Feste. Dexterously, good madonna.

Olivia. Make your proof.

Feste. I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse

of virtue, answer me.

Olivia. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Olivia. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's

soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

[millennialgriefrituals]

Oddly Specific Grief Activities

I spent a lot of time looking for guidance on things to do while grieving. Many articles provided a good foundation, but I still struggled to find direction in ideas like “watch a movie” or “write what you’re feeling”. Trial and error—and then, remembering what you even did—can be difficult when you’re already emotionally drained. I will continually edit this post to track the specific things that worked best for me.

Updated 3/24/23

Watch a movie

Stand-up comedy specials – for when I needed something low-stakes, approachable, and couldn’t give attention to a backstory

Heist movies – good for getting through the worst time of day, which, for me, was the evening

Mockumentary-style TV shows – in addition to The Office and Parks and Rec, Peep Show and Zach Stone is Gonna Be Famous are absolute gems

Write what you’re feeling

Prompt ideas

What time of day is the hardest for me? Why?

What time of day is the easiest for me? Why?

Where does the grief hurt in my body?

What are some of the rituals I kept with the person or pet I’m missing?

What are some ways I might honor those rituals even though the person or pet is no longer here?

What is my favorite memory that best captures their personality?

What’s the funniest thing they ever did?

What did their hair/fur look like when the sun hit it?

What is my favorite spring/summer/fall/winter memory of them?

What is their version of heaven?

[lunarflwrs]

&

[trendynewsnow]

Exploring the Heartfelt Rituals of Pet Memorialization

The Journey into the Heart of Pet Memorialization It all started with a visit to a pet cemetery nestled in the suburbs of Los Angeles, California. Despite spending his entire career immersed in the study of death, American author and photographer Paul Koudounaris had never been particularly drawn to human cemeteries. However, the Pet Haven Cemetery and Crematory captivated him in a way that was…

[biblebloodhound]

Face Reality (Numbers 20:22-29)

The ancients have a great deal to teach us, that is, if we have the spiritual and emotional ears to hear, and eyes to see.

Aaron’s Death, by David Roberts, 1842 The whole community of Israel left Kadesh and arrived at Mount Hor. There, on the border of the land of Edom, the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, “The time has come for Aaron to join his ancestors in death. He will not enter the land I am giving the people of Israel, because the two of you rebelled against my instructions concerning the water at Meribah. Now…

[7outerelements]

I miss my dog. Still finding new memories that rip off the scab. Angry or sad or numb when I'm not sufficiently distracted. I really thought I could be more composed about this. Philosophical, even. Instead I'm berating myself for every evening I spent relaxing in the living room instead of sitting by her bed.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

WHUMP ALPHABET

*anything that can be triggering is most likely listed here, skip this post if you think it might upset you*

A is for asystole, amputation, amnesia, asphyxiation, asthma, autopsy, asylum, abandonment, anxiety, abuse, assault, aneurysm, anger, addiction

B is for blood, bruises, blunt force trauma, burns, bite marks, blisters, betrayal, beating, blindfolding, bondage, brainwashing

C is for cannibalism, cuts, convulsion, concussion, cardiac arrest, corpse, chains, cult, carnage, craniotomy, craniectomy, chest compression, choking, coughing up blood

D is for delirium, dehydration, disfigurement, dismemberment, demonic possession, death, dehumanization, degradation, depression, disease, drowning, distress, despair, dizziness, drug withdrawal

E is for exsanguination, electrical injuries, electroconvulsive therapy, electrocution, execution, exhaustion, eating disorders, emergency room

F is for fever, flu, fatality, flat-lining, fractured bones, fear, fatigue, force-feeding, flagellation, flogging

G is for garroting, gunshot wounds, grief, gallows, guillotine, guilt, gash, gag

H is for hypothermia, heatstroke, hallucination, hyperventilation, hemorrhage, handcuffing, hospital, hanging, hatred, hate

I is for intubation, infection, injuries, injection, illness, internal bleeding, intravenous therapy, insomnia, illusion, innards

J is for jealousy, jugular veins

K is for killing, kidnapping, knife

L is for laceration, lobotomy, ligature marks, lack of oxygen, loss of consciousness, lies, living weapon, locking up

M is for morgue, miscommunication, murder, manslaughter, massacre, mourning, miscarriage, masochism, mistreatment, manipulation, misery, mental illness, malnutrition

N is for nightmares, nausea, necrophilia, necrotizing fasciitis, necrosis

O is for outbreaks, obeying, operating theater

P is for physical restraints, pain, punishment, poison, panic attack, paralysis, PTSD, penetration, pierced lung

Q is for quadriceps tendon rupture, quadriparesis, Quebec platelet disorder

R is for ruptured blood vessels, respiratory failure, rabies, rape, rope, resentment, ritual

S is for schadenfreude, strangulation, starvations, shock collar, shock therapy, straightjacket, sadism, scapegoat, shame, sacrifice, sadness, sorrow, slaughter, suicide, self-harm, self-hatred, self-destruction, stabbing, slavery, seizures, stress, slash, suffering, surrendering, somnophilia, shackles, sepsis, surgery

T is for torture, trauma, tears, toxicity, trust issues, traps, tying up

U is for urinary tract infection, unresponsive, unconsciousness

V is for violence, vomiting, viruses, venom

W is for wounds, weeping, waterboarding, weakness, whipping, whimpering

X is for x-ray

Y is for yellow fever, yelling, yelping

Z is for zombie apocalypse

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

INCLUDES | takashi mitsuya, manjiro sano (bonten tl), chifuyu matsuno, shuji hanma, tetta kisaki, haruchiyo sanzu.

CONTENT WARNING | sanzu's contains nsfw, mention of eating disorders. fem!reader.

NOTE | all characters are in their 20s, english isn't my first language! (divider by cafekitsune)

— MITSUYA.

Mitsuya has a hard time getting over your death. He's constantly haunted by the feeling that he somehow failed to protect you, even though your death had nothing to do with him and everyone around him always insists on the fact that there's nothing he could have done to prevent it.

His grief gets so bad that taking care of himself becomes the last thing on his mind. He neglects his appearance and barely eats anymore, he simply can't find the motivation to carry on with his life as if nothing happened. The only thing he looks forward to every day is going back to sleep.

His dreams have become a sanctuary, a safe place where death doesn't exist and the two of you can finally reunite.

— MIKEY.

Mikey keeps a stoic expression the entire time he's being told the news. He's biting his tongue, trying not to let his emotions show.

He feels his heart break into a thousand pieces as fear, anger, and grief all overtake him at once. He wants to scream, to lash out, to hit something. But he doesn't say a single word. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

He then nods curtly before exiting the room and heading to a quiet place where he can gather his thoughts. The world around him feels distant, everything turning into white noise as he struggles to come to terms with what he's just been told.

Mikey hadn't been in touch with you for nearly a decade and he's unsure if he's even supposed to mourn you as intensely as he does, not knowing if you still remembered or even cared about him after all those years.

All he knows is that he did still care about you, and your death feels like a cruel joke life played on him, a punishment that cuts him to the core for all the crimes he's committed.

— CHIFUYU.

Chifuyu completely isolates himself from the world. The moment he hears about your death, he breaks down and cries inconsolably for a solid hour, completely shattered by the loss of yet another friend.

He blames himself for not having done enough to save you, and your death brings back the same overwhelming emotions he experienced when he lost Baji.

With a heavy heart, he visits your grave every day and places a single flower on top of your gravestone, silently expressing his love and respect for you. He takes a moment to collect himself then heads to Baji's resting place where he repeats the same ritual and prays that the pain of losing his best friends will eventually get better.

— HANMA.

Hanma acts like he doesn't care. He'll put on a tough façade, tell everyone he never even cared about you and laugh in their faces when they try to offer condolences. He goes so far as to get defensive when anyone dares to suggest that he had any emotional attachment to you.

You were nothing but a careless brat who threw herself head first into the lion's den despite having been warned of the risks beforehand. Why would he feel any sort of empathy? Why would he care?

But this façade crumbles down as soon as he's alone in the funeral home, staring down at your open casket.

He slowly takes a step closer, looking at your lifeless body, the memory of you lying on the ground, blood pouring out of your wounds flashing through his mind.

He reaches out a shaky hand to cup your face but retracts it right away when he feels the coldness of your skin, a single tear escaping from his eye.

He doesn't let it show, but he spends the rest of his life missing you.

— KISAKI.

Kisaki doesn't react. At least, not from the outside. He keeps his head down and continues flipping through his papers, as if the words he just heard held little to no importance to him.

He might even hum dismissively and wave off whoever brought him the news, not bothering to say anything else.

But anyone who knows him knows that Kisaki is seething with anger beneath the surface.

He doesn't allow himself to dwell on it for too long, though; instead, he channels all those hidden emotions into plotting the perfect revenge. He meticulously devises a plan to make everyone involved with your murder pay, calculating each step to ensure maximum damage.

Regardless of how long it takes, whether it be months or even years, Kisaki will make sure that your death doesn't go unpunished.

— SANZU.

Sanzu tries to forget by sleeping with other women. He wants to move on, and he wants to do it fast.

But he'll be damned if forgetting you was an easy task.

He might try to convince himself that it's not intentional, but he often finds himself gravitating towards women who resemble you in some way. Whether it's the color of their skin or similarities in hair color or style, he can't deny that he still longs for you and looks for you in every woman he picks.

He'll take them from behind and pretend they're you, the palm of his hand softly sliding up their back as if you were suddenly the one moaning for more underneath him. He'll probably moan out your name at some point, not giving a damn about getting a negative reaction from the nameless girl he's using.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

nico is a ghost, nico is gay, nico is a practicing pagan, nico is autistic, nico is antigone-coded, nico is enveloped by death (ghosts, grief, memories haunting him, the life he left behind one more ghost enveloping him, he spends time in the underworld because death is all he remembers and all he really has), nico is mediterranean, nico is from the 30s, nico has depression, nico is sentimental, nico is a crier, nico both self-isolates and is isolated by other people, nico is resilient, nico has a weird relationship with food, nico gets along the best with people also left out, nico is self destructive, nico’s love is bigger than himself and that’s his fatal flaw, nico was always meant to be a tragic character, no matter what in his storyline changed, no matter if Bianca never died and they never went to the lotus hotel, nico is strawberries, nico has freckles, nico has visited several countries and probably met people in all of them, nico is humans by big thief, nico is alien by lebanon hanover, nico has suffered from internalized homophobia, nico is from venice, nico has lost all the memories of the life he originally had and was supposed to keep, nico wants to be liked, to belong, but he’s been pushed away for so long he began believing he didn’t belong, nico yearns, nico cares about the dead, nico knows all about death and it’s rituals, nico is an inmigrant, nico is dead to the government, nico wanted to be a pirate, nico grew up catholic, nico refuses to do anything than might make himself look vulnerable to other people, nico is amazing with swords, nico is currently 15, nico was homeless for years, nico was the first person to go to Tartarus and come out alive, and he did it by choice, nico is willingly to risk his life to save someone else’s, nico will spend the rest of his life mourning a girl no one remembers, who has no grave or place in the underworld, who nico will eventually forget parts of, her face, her voice, because he has no photos of, but a love than will never fade, nico belongs in another time, nico refuses to lose his humanity, nico has been burned too many times, and now doesn’t even try to fit in, nico wears all black both because he likes it but also because he’s mourning, nico doesn’t read very well in english, nico moves his hands to articulate as he’s speaking, nico has ptsd, nico has a weird relationship with touch, nico is

[dent-de-leon]

The fact that Essek storms off "in a huff" and is literally brought to tears when he sees Caleb mourning Molly...there's just so many interesting implications for shadowidomauk there.

It's the fact that Essek saw Caleb kiss Molly on the forehead the way he kissed him--saw Caleb repeat these familiar phrases in battle to Lucien that he once used to comfort Essek. Essek learning Caleb's love language, and seeing it reflected in how he treats Mollymauk.

It's Essek seeing Caleb at his lowest, at his most desperate and hopeless--how very wrong it feels to see him like this, how painful it is to watch him fall apart over losing Mollymauk. "Caleb Widogast, have you ever accepted defeat?"

Because of all things, it is Molly's death that leaves Caleb more brokenhearted than Essek's ever seen him, the only time he's ever truly admitted to knowing defeat--"Maybe today. For the first time." The way Caleb came all this way and tried so desperately to save him, and it still wasn't enough. He poured his whole heart and soul into that ritual, and it just wasn't enough.

Essek being moved by the Nein's own grief, choked up and crying for this person that he never even met. Insisting over and over, "It's not fair--it's not fair...We've just all come so far. It's not fair." And it's the moment that Caleb kisses Molly on the forehead and says his goodbyes that really breaks Essek's heart, the passion and gutting loss of Caleb's own grief that sends Essek storming off and fighting back tears.

Do you think...Essek ever tells Kingsley what happened that day? How hard Caleb tried to save him--how much it shattered him when Tealeaf was still lying dead in his arms? Do you think he ever told King about the forehead kiss and how tender Caleb was with him--how he must surely love him? Do you think Essek admits that even he was crushed when Tealeaf didn't wake, that he never knew him before, but still mourned him all the same?

Do you think he ever quietly tells Kingsley that he's happy he came back, how much it means to him--especially for Caleb's sake--

Do you think Kingsley ever kisses either of the wizards on the forehead and everything just. Kinda falls into place for Essek--

[originalaccountname]

forgive me if this is a bit of a silly question, but i was wondering what you think of the popular (head?)canon about chuuya grieving subordinates? i've been thinking about that particular aspect of chuuya's (fan?) personality recently, and can't quite recall anything from canon about chuuya grieving the subordinates of his that die...? all that comes to mind wrt chuuya grieving is the flags, his unnamed friends mentioned at what i think is the beginning of dead apple, and rimbaud... but i wouldn't be surprised if i was missing something, so sorry if this is overlooking something huge i don't know about hahaha

If we're speaking canon, there are these scenes that immediately come to mind about Chuuya mourning his subordinates, from chapters 30 and 31:

-

At the very least, we know Chuuya has a notable drive to protect who he considers his people and that he holds respect for the dead. In the scenes above, he takes his hat off for, we can assume, deceased grunts. It's a mark of respect to them, if not a gesture of mourning on his part. He resents Q (or Q's ability?) for taking the lives of his people, even if he ends up saving them and bringing them back.

As an executive, every mafia member except Mori (the boss) and his fellow executives could be considered subordinates. He probably has some people that respond more directly to him, but he's at the top of the food chain. Everyone's his subordinate.

I think that headcanon holds a part of truth, that Chuuya hates seeing his people die, that he tries to mourn them a little when they do. I also think the Port Mafia is too big an organization for Chuuya to be able to do this on a personal level for every subordinate. Death is too common in their world. They can't afford to stop moving, especially at his level. I think he'd learn to compromise, to mourn them as a group, to pay his respects when he can, because these little rituals do help give him closure.

He stopped Dazai from shooting a dead enemy for no reason. He visited Rimbaud's grave to speak to him. He aggressively needed to be at the Flags' funerals and had to be convinced with preventing more tragedies to leave early. He left flowers on the Flags' graves. He activated Corruption out of grief during the Dragon's Head Conflict. He took his hat off for 18 Port Mafia members killed by Q's ability. I think we can easily argue Chuuya is a character that was created with grief in mind, considering who his namesake is.

So yes, I think Chuuya mourns his fellow Port Mafia members in some ways, even if showing up to funerals isn't possible, even if the edge of grief were to dull with repeated loss.

[stuck-in-jelly]

Ethari being in a perpetual state of mourning for the past couple of years is devastating me right now

First he lost his closest friends. People he cared for deeply, enough to take care of their child for them when they had left. Willing to go every extra mile to make her happy.

Then he lost his husband, watching the flower sink knowing that he is gone. And to make matters worse the village he was raised in turning to him telling him he must preform the ritual to never see his daughter again, to banish her for the shame she had brought.

And when she comes home you realize you still love her, your husband is dead because of her choices but she is a child. She is his child. But still he needs to let her go or risk banishment, he has to send her away resigning to possibly never visually see her again.

And he’s been sitting in this grief for years in an empty home.

I can’t wait for him to finally have his family back because he deserves it