#mourning death

[imaginedreamwrite]

Break my heart with Steve + song lyric. Please just shatter me!

Here’s my attempt! Trigger warning for death, loss of life, mourning and grief

“Hi Steve.” He smiled bashfully and smoothed his hair down, aware of his newer size and strength, of his change in appearance. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m on a little leave before I have to go back.” He blushed, studying you and paying special attention to the hair bow you chose.

He would have to bring you back some fancy bows from France or England, something you’d really love.

Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair

He's a little shy so she give him a smile

So he said would you mind sittin' down for a while

And talking to me, I'm feeling a little low

“Do you have a minute?” Steve felt nervous, anxious to his core while you poured him a coffee. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Yeah…I’ve got a minute.” You flashed him a smile, your pretty eyes and beautiful smile making his entire uniform feel tight and rigid, instilling an incessant need to fidget. “Are you okay?”

“I’m shipping out soon, again.” Steve drew his hand over the edge of the napkin, his heart skipping a beat the longer he looked at you, the longer he searched your beautiful face. “And I was thinking when I came back…”

“Steve,” your hand rest upon his, reflecting the same small town and meagre upbringing he experienced, “are you asking me out?”

So they went down and they sat on the pier

He said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care

I got no one to send a letter to

Would you mind if I sent one back here to you

“You’re not…you don’t have a soldier…?” Steve felt foolish, he felt like he was crossing a line and making some kind of mistake.

“No,” you squeezed his hand and brushed your thumb back and forth against him, “I don’t have a soldier. Its just me.”

“Me too,” Steve spoke with forlorn, dropping his gaze to your ring finger wondering what it would look like in the future, “but maybe when I get back we could see a film?”

“A film.” Your lips formed a small smile, nodding excitedly. “I’d really like that. To see a film with you.”

“I can write you too, if you want.” He could see it now, the life before him in a tiny place in Brooklyn. “I’d like to have someone to talk to.”

“Of course, Steve. You can write me anytime.”

I cried

Never gonna hold the hand of another guy

Too young for him they told her

STEVE ROGERS, HERO OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE CRASHED INTO THE OCEAN—

Your hand shook and your eyes screwed closed. Nausea befell you, a cry or scream ripping from your throat as you clutched his last letter and broke down on the floor of your small apartment. You couldn’t deal with the immense loss and the papers that printed the news of his death had caused a great deal of mourning among people around you.

You were alone when you found out, you had little to remember him by. His letters and his Saint Christopher necklace he gave you was safely tucked in your drawers. Your heart felt like it was turning to ash in your chest, your mind thinking of nothing but him.

You finally cried, you finally broke down and managed to verbally mourn him. Your tears were rolling down your cheeks hot and heavy, your back pressed against the cracking plaster wall.

You’d been visited by one of the soldiers he had fought with, one of the men who returned home alive had given you something from Steve. The box that you hadn’t even touched yet had sat on your kitchen table with his handwriting scrawled across the tag.

“I know it hasn’t been long, but I wanna marry you. I’m gonna come home and we’re gonna get married.”

Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier

Our love will never end

Waitin' for the soldier to come back again

You kneeled in front of the grave they had for him, your fingers clutching the stone as you cried. You could barely breathe, barely speak and hardly get out the goodbye he deserved. Your heart shattered when you read the epitaph and you felt as if part of you died with him.

“I miss you.” Your voice shook, your fingers trailing across his name etched in stone. “I miss you so much.”

Never more to be alone when the letter says

A soldier's coming home

[scribe-of-death]

Mourning Death

Death has gone, and we shall remain.

Death has gone, and we shall stay.

Death has gone, and we shall be eternal.

Death has gone, yet so has Life.

[victusinveritas]

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Something something Danny learns that Jason died and crawled out of his own grave.

Danny, to Jason: You actually got a grave?

Jason: Why? You want one?

He doesn’t notice how this could potentially sound like a threat from an outsider’s perspective.

[lackadaisycal-art]

Family Recipe

[that-satireguy]

dont mind me just thinking about the fact that some of yall genuinely believe that the only trans people in 3rd world countries are trans women and have never considered the impact of forced pregnancy, child marriage, fgm and honor killings on trans men and when people like me talk about it you do an obligatory reblog then forget 40 seconds later and start talking about how transmasc invisibility is a good thing.

[askfordoodles]

"Young man, you cut that tsundere bullshit, I know what you're doing, I wasn't born yesterday." - Secret Brat Tamer Volkarin

[firedragon1321]

[rocketbirdie]

i don't want to lose you. i don't want to lose this

[rowlight]

phone scribble of the pathetic

original bit

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Lost boys

[loudclan-clangen]

Loudclan - Moon 29: Part 3

Things are gonna get a bit darker than they have been in the second half of this moon. Be warned and check the tags! Happy Spooky Season!

The sun is ever-present in the summer sky. It sits vigil alongside the clan. Soon after the bodies arrive at camp a patrol sets out to track the rogues, but finding that they have already crossed Shadedclan's territory, it is decided that the opportunity for revenge has passed. They'll double patrols and wait to see if the murders try to cross the territory on their way home. Many are upset, but few argue. As the sky begins to lose it's duskiness, the vigil is ended, the bodies buried, and the clan cats left to filter back into camp at their own pace. Wildfirecry excuses himself to clear his head, while Dancepaw attempts to bridge the gap with the only brother he has left.

Seeing Rosehiptree will be left alone in the burial place, Songpaw decides to stay for a while.

It takes Wildfirecry three days to find the farm cats.

There are Forestclan traditions that were never passed on to Loudclan. Rites that were deemed too dark to touch the newborn clan and thus were cast aside. But here, miles past the valley territories, they live on.

Wildfirecry returns to Loudclan's camp a week after the vigil having lost two lives. No one questions where he has been. The scent of rancid dried blood still lingers despite a fresh coat of oil, and his wounds, while closed, are unmistakably fresh. The clan returns to an uneasy normalcy.

[Whoo! I did it! This moon was INCREDIBLY hard for me. The first part relies so much on my dialogue skills, which, is the part of comic-making that comes least easily to me, and the second part is super experimental, which was so much fun, but also mentally tiring. (On that note please let me know if it's like impossible to see. I meant for it to be a bit difficult to make out, but it's hard to gage between my ipad and my laptop whether it will be readable for all of you. I can fiddle with the color grading tomorrow if necessary.) And finally, Rosehip's experience here is really, really close to my heart. That means that her scenes here are ones that I really wanted to write, but also that I had to take a couple of breaks to make sure that I wasn't wearing myself down too much, so sorry that it took longer than I thought and I haven't been able to answer as many asks as I had hoped to. Anyway, despite early difficulty I had a GREAT time finishing this moon up and I'm happy with how it turned out! Songpaw and Rosehiptree are keeping the trauma dump to best friends pipeline alive and I love them for it. Erminekit is kinda being a brat but he really just wants to be there for his best friend and everyone is getting in the way! He doesn't really get the concept of "giving someone space". As far as Moon 30 I have a science class that I'd like to get finished by the end of the month, so it will probably be a minute. Hope you guys enjoy!]

First Moon

Next Moon

[maladaptivewriting]

yall remember in canon when kreacher charged into battle against the death eaters yelling about fighting for regulus?

[attyrocious]

ace on gouache more like gouace(??)

anyway happy birthday

[heylittleriotact]

No wonder Emmrich.exe stopped working when Rook asks if the tea in the memorial garden at the end of their outing was set up to impress them.

Death-man brought Rook to this place to try and help them sort through some of the feelings they need to confront in order to healthily mourn the death of someone who presumably meant a great deal to them.

The “light refreshment” was waiting at the end as a deliberate part of Emmrich’s care as a death professional. When I was in funerals we had coffee, tea, and freshly baked cookies waiting for every family that came in for arrangements, visitations, services, or after-care meetings: they’re comforting little gestures that people tend to really lean into during a difficult time.

So yeah. Given the circumstances and the reason for the outing to begin with, it would be a lot like someone showing up at the funeral home to make arrangements for their mum, looking at my spread of coffee and cookies and being like “Ooooh… are you hitting on me? 👀”

I would have had the exact same reaction Emmrich did lmao

[flwrkid14]

The Immortal Weight of Tim Drake

There’s a part of Tim that he keeps buried deep inside, locked away so no one can see it—will ever see it. He can’t let them know. Not Dick, not Jason, not Bruce. Hell, not even Steph or Cass. It’s better this way. Because the truth is, Tim Drake isn’t like them. He can’t stay dead.

No matter how many times it happens—how many times a blade finds its way into his gut, a bullet catches him in the chest, or a fall from a skyscraper crushes every bone in his body—Tim comes back. Not right away. No, it takes minutes, sometimes agonizing minutes, where he lies broken, breathless, and unmoving, with nothing but the darkness pressing in. He feels it each time. The quiet nothingness of death that should be final but never is.

He’s not like Jason.

Jason died. Really, truly died. He was buried, mourned, and remembered as the second Robin. His grave sat cold, a monument to a boy too good for the world, too bright to last. And Jason, when he clawed his way out, became a zombie in every sense of the word—not quite living but not quite dead either.

Jason knows what it’s like to rise from death, to feel like he doesn’t belong, like a walking corpse.

But Tim doesn’t know that part.

Tim knows what it’s like to die. He knows the brief moments of oblivion that come with it, the aching cold, the stillness. But he’ll never stay dead. His revival is a guaranteed, while Jason's was a miracle. He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned, because he’ll always come back.

And that’s what hurts the most.

No one sees him die. He’s careful. So damn careful. On the rare occasions when he can’t hide the fact that he’s dead for a few minutes—those close calls where he doesn’t get up fast enough—he brushes it off, masking the pain with a smile and a joke. If anyone noticed the blood pooling in his suit or the sickening sound of his heart stopping for too long, they never questioned it. The danger passes, and life goes on.

For them, anyway.

For Tim, it never really stops. Every death, every time he’s pushed past the edge, it weighs on him. He knows he’s playing with something dangerous—something unnatural. But what choice does he have? The truth is, it’s not just that he can’t stay dead—it’s that he should be dead. So many times over, in fact.

There are days when Tim wonders if he’s meant to be this way. Maybe, in some twisted, cosmic joke, the universe decided that Tim Drake would be the one who can’t die. Maybe it’s because Gotham needs someone like him. Someone to shoulder the risks no one else can take. After all, if Tim can’t die, what’s one more mission where death is a near certainty? What’s one more gamble with his life? It doesn’t matter anymore, right?

And he doesn’t want them to know, because the moment they know, everything changes. If Dick saw Tim’s body cold and unmoving for just a little too long—if Bruce knew Tim had been gone, even for a heartbeat—what would they do? Tim knows exactly what they’d do. They’d stop sending him on the dangerous missions. They’d protect him, smother him with concern, lock him away to preserve him like some fragile thing that can’t be touched.

But the truth is, Tim’s more dangerous now than he’s ever been. Because he can go where no one else can. He can risk everything, go into every deadly mission, every impossible scenario where the chance of survival is zero. Because he’s already proven that, for him, death is temporary.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean he isn’t scared every single time it happens—when he feels life slipping away, the weight of his body going limp, his heart stopping, his breath gone. There’s that brief moment, that flicker of panic in his chest as he wonders, Is this the time I don’t come back? Is this the one that sticks?

But then the pain rushes back, and so does his heartbeat.

He’s alive again, and no one’s the wiser.

Tim can die a thousand times over, but he’ll always get back up. And that’s his curse. To always come back. Even if it means he’ll always be alone in the moments that matter most.

He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned. But maybe that’s the point.

Jason can have the grave, the tragedy, the return from death that breaks the world apart. Tim just… dies. And he’ll keep dying. Keep coming back. Because that’s what he’s meant for.

It’s better if no one knows. If they don’t know, they won’t hesitate to send him on the missions no one else could survive. They’ll trust him to do what they can’t. And Tim will keep shouldering that weight, carrying death with him like a shadow, never far from his heels.

Because for Tim, death isn’t an ending. It’s just another step in the fight.