#the funeral | graphics

[cas-verse]

BARBIE POSTERS ft My current mains

Zoelie Myers, Joanna Hughes, Ayanda Ros, Alisha Harding, Victoria Curtis, and Xiomara Di Paola

Tag: 

@eddiemunscns @katiekinswrites @ocappreciationtag  @megandaisy9

[made4myspace]

not a good person

[chichirid]

˗ˋˏ hu tao id pack ˎˊ˗

(names, pronouns, titles)

names: agni, april, avril, blaise, blaze, bridget, charlie, chloe, daemon, ember, enzo, evelyn, felicity, hana, hayden, hazel, hestia, huoqiáng, huīyàn, jasper, julia, lachlan, lola, madeline, mateo, meijuan, mengtao, nico, peiling, quinn, ruby, saurona, shen, stefanie, thalia, veronika, vestia, vivika, wendy, xuàn liè, yajin

pronouns: tomb/tombstones, grave/graveyard, butterfly/butterflies, divi/divine, peach/peaches, spi/spirits, coffin/coffins, ritual/rituals, eternal/eternals, blaze/blazes, flame/flames

titles: *prn* who is acquainted with spirits, *prn* who cleanses spirits with flames, *prn* with a blazing spear, *prn* with a fiery glow, *prn* whose scorched flames reach heaven, *prn* who is familiar with familiars, the 77th butterfly, the funeral parlour’s poet, the eccentric mortician, the divine spirit soother, the guide to the afterlife, the ignited butterfly, the fiery moment of bloom, the undertaker hiding in the garden of eternal rest admist spider lilies, the butterfly’s messenger

art by cha_hanare on twitter (x) - https://twitter.com/cha_hanare/status/1770754834330783828

[brienneoftarth1989]

Forever Young

Larissa Weems x fem reader

Summary: You tried to save the school from The Hyde but it ended up killing you dying in Larissa’s arms. Larissa was beyond upset due to your relationship and organising the funeral was much harder

Warnings: Violence, blood, Major character deaths, funeral, grief, depression, suicide, overdose

Requests open

———————————

“I’ve got to go out there. I’ve got to defend this school” you told Larissa as you got ready to shift into your werewolf form. “You should be careful out there. I can’t lose you y/n. You are all the family that I have left” Larissa told you clearly scared about everything.

You walked over to Larissa as you brought her into a hug and gave her a kiss on her lips. “I promise. I love you Larissa. I will come back to you” you told her as you gave her one last kiss on the lips before running out the door and heading off to find Hyde

You immediately shifted as soon as you exited the door as you ran deep into the woods to find this huge creature. You had to stop this thing before it got any closer to the school. When you reached a clearing in the woods you stop for a second before smelling the air.

You had its scent. You started to follow after it and it wasn’t long before you realised you were making your way back towards the school. The two of you must have ran past each other at some point and not noticed each other. As soon as you made your way back you realised The Hyde was standing in the courtyard waiting for its next victims.

You couldn’t stand the thought it was just waiting for its prey to fall into its hands so you did the only thing that felt right for you at the time which was to attack. You ran straight over to the creature as you clawed at its back. The beast let out a shriek before spinning around causing you to lose your grip.

You fell onto your back and before you knew what was going on you felt its claws going straight across your chest. Pain was all you felt as you then watched it run off into the distance. It wasn’t killing for food. It was killing for sport.

You looked up to see Larissa standing on her balcony in shock at the scene she just witnessed before she ran down to see if you were alright. You had shifted back into your human form by the time she got to you and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

Blood and deep cuts covered your stomach. You weren’t going to make it and you knew it. Larissa picked you up gently and held you in her arms being careful not to cause you too much pain. Your breathing was getting weaker and you wanted to spend the rest of your life looking at the one true person you loved.

“Hey, ssh, it’s going to be ok. You’re going to be ok. We can fix this baby. Just know I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you” Larissa sobbed as she fought back her tears. You felt one of them hit your cheek as you fought back your own tears.

With the strength you had left you lifted your arm and whipped away her tears. “I love you Larissa. I will always love you even from beyond. I just wish I had more time to tell you the many ways I love you…” you said with all your strength before the world went black.

Larissa just looked down at your lifeless body as she held you in a tight grip. “No. You can’t be gone. We still had the rest of our life together. I shouldn’t have let you go out. Maybe then you would still be here” Larissa cried, holding you tighter and tighter.

Larissa sat there for hours with your cold lifeless body before someone eventually found her. The authorities were called and they eventually came to take your body away as Larissa cried not wanting to be apart from you. The next couple of weeks were going to be the hardest as she had to sort out your funeral.

Larissa didn’t leave her room for that whole period. They had to get cover for her position while she grieved your death and trying to organise everything was stressing her out but eventually a day came when she realised everything was sorted just a week before your actual funeral.

Larissa had chosen a nice dark oak coffin for your cremation as well as many wreaths that contained white and black roses which were always your favourite. The songs she had also chosen for the funeral was It’s time to go and Safe & Sound which was a fitting choice considering your love for Taylor Swift and to send you off to your funeral you would be travelling via carriage which would be driven by two white horses.

The wake was the last thing that Larissa had organised. It is to be held at Nevermore where everyone would come to gather to celebrate your life. Larissa decided that no one is to be sad during the wake. It is a time to celebrate your life and Larissa knew deep down that you would have wanted it this way.

With everything sorted now the only thing Larissa wanted to do was sleep and stay in her room until the day of your funeral and that was what Larissa did. She only left her room to eat and go to the bathroom. She was lost with you and she didn’t know how much longer she could go on without you.

When the day of your funeral did come around Larissa finally pulled herself out of bed trying to put on a brave face for the day. She jumped into the shower as she got herself ready for the day. After bathing for the first time in weeks she styled her hair and put on a light amount of makeup.

She then made her way over to the wardrobe to get the outfit that she would be wearing to the funeral. It was a beautiful long black dress and a black coat with a white rose stitched into the pocket. She got herself dressed before looking at herself in the mirror. The urge to cry was already taking over.

Larissa grabbed her large black glasses so people couldn’t see that she had been crying before placing them over her eyes. She took a deep breath and started her day. Larissa spent the day in and out of what was going on. One minute she was at home. The next minute she was at the funeral, the she was at the wake and now she is back in bed crying.

The day had gone amazingly and you had the most beautiful send off but Larissa was hurt and she didn’t want you to be gone but she had to stay strong. That night she once again cried herself to sleep forever thinking of the moment where you died in her arms.

Months went by and Larissa wasn’t getting any better. She had tried to start getting through everyday life but there was something missing and that something was you. When your ashes came back Larissa decided to have something made.

Using one of your favourite hoodies she had a custom bear made with your ashes being put inside the bear as well as in the eyes when they were made for the bear. She then sprayed the bear in your favourite perfume which you always wore which meant that it always smelt like you.

Larissa was currently laid in bed with tears covering her face as she held the bear tight to her chest. The empty bottle of pills laid next to her. “I will be with you soon my love” she whispered as she felt the effects of the overdose taking effect. Larissa awoke to see you standing there at the end of the bed. “Just close your eyes, you’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now” you told her as Larissa walked to you and took your hand.

You both looked back at her lifeless body on the bed as you both stepped into the light waiting to spend eternity together.

[pcttymcrlecu]

dreams of someone ✒︎ m.barzal

summary: all lina’s dreams seemingly had come true – and then she met mat in a time where they both needed ... someone

featuring: mat barzal, lina thorne (oc), sydney esiason martin, and the rest of the martin family in mention

word count: 3.8k

warnings: none -- there is a ton of food mention though especially of the baked variety

dedication: this little one shot was written for bre (@fallinallincurls) for demi's winter fic exchange!

the last time ii wrote about mat was two or so years ago so please give me some grace. but writing this was the exact challenge that i needed so i really did enjoy writing it for you and adjusting it to suit your desires. so, i hope it meets your expectations and that you enjoy it!

and a little dedication as per always to demi (@wyattjohnston) for hosting and understanding that life sometimes happens.

It was a typical opening morning for Lina Thorne. She’d woken up at 4:30am, showered and got herself ready for her shift. It was a quick morning stroll to her place when the city that never sleeps was a lot quieter than and the sun was still well below the horizon and wouldn’t be painting the skies until the first batch of cookies was in the oven. The woman couldn’t hide the yawn that left her mouth as her key slid into the lock and the front door to the store opened.

Lina never imagined that she be living the dream in New York City, especially since her dreams of staying out in the big city upon finishing her internship with her mentor never came true. Instead, she found herself dreaming of what life in the big city could be for her, working in a bakery out in Boston honing her skills and surprisingly making herself seemingly at home. She had been referred for the position by her mentor despite his own wants to let the young chef go. Working her way into management and securing respect and acknowledgement in the pastry world. All an up-and-coming pastry chef could ask for. It wasn’t until during a prep day that her boss mentioned a position that she was put into consideration for that would lead her back to the city of her dreams and training not only as a baker but rather the head baker of the newest branch of the bakery she’d happily called home for the last three years.

However, as stood in the commercial kitchen under bright cool lights, being able to say she ran the little bakery on the island, she couldn’t help but pat herself on the back. The nerves had initially consumed her and although her boss and the owner of the bakery had been around for training of staff, prepping for the opening and the grand opening itself. Almost as soon as the store was open and running within the week, she was then solely in charge. It was days like this, however, that she loved the most. Mornings where she was able to get back into the very reason why she got into baking in the first place. It was a time when she could take a moment to herself and just breathe. Especially on a day like today when she had a big order to fill out, for none other than one of her newest friends in the neighbourhood.

Lina’s eyes flitted towards the clock, keenly aware that it was fast approaching time to slip the decorated sign on the door and let customers know that they were open. She had since been joined by two baristas and two of the bakers who were due to take over from her once the store opened up whilst she got her deliveries done before working through paperwork. The shout from one of the aforementioned baristas shook her out of her haze as she iced the cookies in front of her. Calling out for a moment, she finished up the cookie she was decorating before placing the pining bag down and reaching for the dishtowel. 

Walking out into the front, she sent a smile to the two college students who were pulling down chairs and wiping tables before her eyes landed on a familiar head of hair tapping their fingers against her counter. Pulling a face of confusion, she moved towards him dropping the dishtowel.

“We’re not open yet.” She spoke before crossing her arms as he turned towards her. A smile that she could only describe as cheeky sat on his lips as he gave her a little shrug before leaning towards her.

“I was told to pick up a cookie deliver. Sydney’s orders,” He spoke with amusement filling his words, “There’s no saying no to that woman.”

“Mat, Syd’s order is set for delivery.” She wasn’t quite sure if she believed in what he was saying but it wasn’t in her nature to be unkind.

Lina had met Mat by chance and obviously all thanks to the woman currently in question. Sydney and a couple of the other wives and girlfriends of the Islanders had dropped by for a coffee date from which Sydney had made it her newest spot and was happily welcomed by the bakery’s staff as a regular. The more time Sydney spent in the establishment, the more opportunities she got to speak with young women and truly it was hard to say no to that woman. Before she knew it, she was being invited to dinners, and girls’ nights – she had even frequented hockey games which was something she hadn’t done since she was in culinary school. The late nights of the games just didn’t align with the early morning that was required of her at the store. It was one of the rare late nights she had free when she was invited by Sydney to a dinner party at the Martin residence and she had run into Mat. The story according to Syd was that Mat was only invited because of a recent break-up and them wanting him to be around people who loved him and wanted nothing but happiness for him. It, and Lina will quote, “is not a matchmaking setup” like other introductions to Sydney’s male friends of the same age as the baker had been.

The two had been seated next to one another and Mat’s glum mood had caught her attention. But not knowing anything of his current situation and maybe having had a little too much fun doing unplanned pres with the hostess with the mostess gifting her looser lips than normal, she had made a remark about his apparent brooding. A thought she assumed was just that but upon hearing the chatter quieten down a little, she realised her words most definitely left her mouth. Slowly lowering her glass to the table, she turned to apologise to the male beside her when the snort that he let out left her sorry and confused. It was all quickly replaced with intrigue when he shot back with a retort of his own, prompting the two adults into a comfortable and playful argument. It was that moment where instead of anticipating the presence of a certain blonde every day, she noticed a certain brunet make a place for himself at the table closest to the counter by the display case.

The baker had been warned against Matt’s teammates but none other than Matt himself. She’d gotten the idea that Matt was keenly aware of his wife’s ability to befriend people and more importantly take them under her wing, if how quickly she was welcomed into the family dynamic of Martins was anything to go by. Regarding dating, who was she to question a man who spent most of his time with said teammates, she doubted she’d ever even meet and if she ever did, so many faces pass through her doors, she wouldn’t even remember them. Which is why the hockey player who had chosen to make himself a fixture had initially garnered a little apprehension from her but without fail, he always came in and grabbed a coffee (and a cake on those days he chose to treat himself), his a seat and left when he was all done, never without a generous tip. He was kind enough to her staff and even kinder to the other regulars who were in at the same time as him, so she let him be. All business is good business, even though she knew for a fact there were coffee shops much closer to his apartment, the arena and even the practice facility. But who was she to complain.

She couldn’t remember when it started but she eventually started joining him when he’d visit in the mornings. Their chats were surprisingly something familiar, and comfortable, like talking to an old friend. They joked and teased but most of the time they just let go. It had been a couple weeks since they first met, and it wasn’t until the second week of them sharing a drink that he’d actually opened up about why he was looking so glum the night they had met and why he was hanging around her café. How he got her store details from Sydney and how he was drawn to the fact that she didn’t handle him as though he was fragile. How all he had wanted when it felt like someone he cared about deeply had uprooted him from his very foundation was normalcy. And that’s what Lina gave him. He was just another friend of a friend to her; he was just Mat to her. Not heartbroken Mat, not healing Mat, not even NHL superstar – Just Mat.

“Well, you’re not all that Mathew.” She had stated to which he could only respond with a soft ‘Exactly’. Ever since that moment, they had shared ample time with one another both in and outside of his coffee trips. And despite the time Mat has been spending within their four brick walls, it was still a surprise to see him at the store before opening.

“Can’t be, she sent me a frantic message at 7 telling me she needed a favour and who am I to fulfil my favourite uncle duties,” He explained before sending a wink her way, “Anything for Winnie.”

“Yeah, she lied to you,” She answered, giving him a double pat on the shoulder and a short cackle before moving over and opening the gate for the man, “One time only, might as well put you to work.”

The two of them made their way to the kitchen and while Mat went to wash his hands (not before Lina pointed a firm finger towards the sink to gently direct him to do so), Lina grabbed him a free apron and tossed it over his shoulder. Moving back to the station where the last of the cookies were waiting to be decorated and then packed away for delivery. 

“So, what can I do?” Mat slipped the apron over his head as he leaned over to observe the spread of baked goods before glancing back over at her. His confident smile slowly slipped off his face as she grabbed a piping bag and handed it over to him.

“I line, you flood.”

“Didn’t you train like three years for this?” Giving the bag a gentle squish and frowning when no icing flowed out.

“It’s basically impossible to mess it up, it’s like colour by numbers,” She explained softly as she grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped the end of the piping bag while adjusting his hand to make sure no icing was wasted. Pulling the cookies, she was previously working on in front of him all lined and ready to fill in front of him, before gesturing towards the piping bag and gesturing back to the cookies. “Match the flood colour to the line colour. Winnie does it all the time.”

“While I know that’s not really true, the dig hurts.” His free hand flew up to his chest in mock hurt before laughing and finally putting icing to cookie with an almost amusing amount of concentration.

“Get filling pretty boy, I will not have my little princess disappointed.”

The two of them worked almost like a well-oiled machine. It almost felt like she was back in culinary school, helping out with the younger years. They weren’t always perfect, but their hearts were always in the right place and if there was one thing she had learnt about Mat was that his heart was always in the right place. Almost to a fault. The whole bravado he put on was more like a mask. At least in front of her. He never had any walls up with her, but he definitely had worn the walls she constructed when she moved down. She always knew that those walls had to come down eventually, but she definitely didn’t expect it would come from a chance encounter with a random stranger. The girls and her staff had done their fair share and warming her up and making her feel at home but the first time she ever truly let herself be with no pretences and no fears of being judged and not fitting in was sitting in the store over a cup of coffee with Mat.

Before long, all the cookies, cupcakes, and the grand finale cake of it all were packed into the refrigerated bakery van ready for transportation to the Martins' house, where preparations, if the texts and calls she had received from Sydney were anything to go by, were well underway.  Despite Mat’s pleas to drive, Lina kept a firm hold of the keys until they were safely parked in their friends’ driveway. Grabbing her garment bag from its place hanging in the backseat, she walked up to the front door. Mat’s knuckles were knocking against the wooden door as Lina reached him up on the front step. His eyes were drawn to the bag in her hand, and he couldn’t help but bring up his curiosity.

“What’s with the change of attire?” 

“As if I’m going to spend the rest of the day in clothing that’s covered in powdered sugar, flour and dried batter and dough. Plus, if I’m going to be around kids with surprisingly sticky hands, I’m going to start with a fresh slate.” Her words were light and humorous and before Mat could even attempt a response, the door opened and a hand was wrapped around Lina’s wrist, pulling her into the house quickly.

“Thank goodness you’re here, I need your help.” The blonde in front of her pulled her to the side before aggressively motioning to Mat who was still pulling his shoes off. He almost comically pointed to himself before looking behind him only to be physically pulled into their little huddle a second later, “There’s so much left to sort out and both Alice and Winnie want pancakes. Help Matty and I out?”

“Don’t think I’m your guy, I’mma just –“ 

“Of course we can help, go do what you need to do,” Lina responded, grabbing onto Mat’s arm before he walked away. Sydney gave her a smile and with a blown kiss, she was gone. Once her friend was out of view, Lina’s hand swung up to Mat’s shoulder, “Really?”

“What?” He was greeted simply with a shaken head as she slipped her own shoes off along with her jacket before she walked into the kitchen. Pouting at the lack of an answer, he followed her quickly “What?”

Mat watched as she made quick work of pulling out the necessary ingredients and equipment for the pancakes. Pulling up one of the bar stools, he settled into a routine that was very much a typical evening for them. Since he frequented the store so much, Lina had decided that for all the real estate he was taking away from her other customers, he had to give something back and that was how he became her official taste tester. Once, every other month they’d get together and along with a constantly refilled glass of wine (courtesy of Mat), she’d bake all her experimental recipes and flavour pairings on him. It was one of the things that she loved about him. She loved simply baking with no pressure of it being commercially viable and nothing is better than baking for someone who is more than happy to consume. Even if it means she has to put up with the constant whining about how her goods are going to make a certain someone work harder at the gym.

The two worked in a comfortable quiet, Mat had put music on the Alexa quiet enough not to disturb anything happening in the other parts of the house. Mat was picking at the tester pancake before he hopped off the stool and made his way over to the cupboard and pulled out the Nutella and a spoon, before settling himself beside the baker who was humming along to the music.

“What happened to all that ‘I’m a disciplined athlete’ talk?”

“I’m just a man and you’re out here teasing me with all those amazing treats you made me decorate and now you expect me to not have at least one spoonful of chocolatey goodness?” Forcefully scooping up a spoonful of said spread, her pointed it in her direction for a moment before shoving it in his mouth, “You have too much faith in me.”

“Oh, now that is pushing it,” She said flipping one of the pastries onto a plate before turning to face him as she poured more batter on the hot plate, “Would you please just cut some strawberries and stuff?”

Although it wasn’t without complaints, sure enough, they were working side by side. Lina flipping pancakes and Matt cutting strawberries into quarters as they quietly spoke about their weeks, catching each other up on their respective TV shows. 

“You know this is what I miss the most.” Lina hummed in question at his statement, only slightly inclining her head in his direction, “I miss just having someone to talk to. To exist with. To be with.”

Silence flooded through the pair as her head turned towards him as he continued chopping the fruit, a bittersweet smile on his face. She took a deep breath as she felt a wave of emotion flood through her as his words processed in her head. Her hand was on the dial, turning the heat off and placing the spatula down. Her words came out as an unsteady breath as she turned fully towards him.  “Oh Mat…” 

“I know I’ve already talked you to death about … that situation but –“ Mat lowered the knife but still made no effort to look in her direction and shook his head slightly before huffing out a quiet laugh,  “It’s not just that you didn’t treat me like I could break but the time we spent together, the conversations we had. It almost felt like having someone again. Except this time, it was in the shape of friend – someone I can’t lose. Until I kept getting to know how wonderful you are.”

The words to comfort the man in front of her were proving difficult to come by so Lina simply stepped towards him and did the only thing she could think of, wrapped her arms around him. With one arm around his back and the other holding onto his arm, she laid her head on his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve done the whole break up thing before I don’t know why this time it was difficult. I guess I got too comfortable with the wrong person, I don’t know but I know it was wrong now. I knew it was wrong the moment I had coffee with you for the first time because you made me feel more heard and all you were doing was entertaining a customer who wouldn’t leave your store.” She couldn’t help the laugh that left her, giving him a whole-body nudge and shaking her head as it pressed against his bicep muttering a soft ‘not true’.

Lina felt Mat’s head move to look towards her, moving her own to look up at him but keeping him in her soft hug. She would never admit it to him, considering the subconscious promise she made to herself upon finding out he was still working through his breakup. Their eyes met and he couldn’t help the smile that floated onto his lips until a little embarrassment covered his face,  “Sydney didn’t tell me to come and collect Win’s treats, I just hoped if I turned up, I wouldn’t have to share your attention with your customers.” 

“I’ve told you before Mathew you never have to be jealous of customers taking me away from you. I’ll always be there for you,” She muttered, pulling away before turning him until they were chest to chest, “I know we joke but I truly will always be there for you. Maybe covered in icing but always there.”

“And I you,” At his words, she wrapped her arms around his neck giving him a proper hug.

Inhaling deeply, she felt him do the same as his arms wrapped firmly around her trapping her between them, not that she was complaining. Her mind rushed through the past couple weeks of her life since meeting the man and she couldn’t believe just how close and open she had got with him. There were people she’d met during culinary school and knew for 4 years and worked with in Boston for 3 years who didn’t know as much about who she was outside of the kitchen as Mat did, and she’d barely known him for a couple months.

He had an interest in getting to know her and just wanted to sit and speak with her, whether or not he had his own ulterior motives for appreciating her company, they bonded. They spent a lot of time together doing nothing more than talking in their own little world. Lina would go as far as to say that she knew him and not just superficially but at a much deeper level and she could entirely feel what he was saying about how being with her feels because she felt the exact same way. Releasing him from her hold, she was suspended on her toes as Mat took a little longer to pull his arms away. She laughed softly, keeping her hands perched on his shoulders as she looked up at him with a soft and gentle smile.

“You bring me peace too,” She whispered, letting out a breath as she steeled herself to admit her truth to him, something that she’d become very comfortable with so what did she have to lose this time, “I love being your someone, because you’re my someone.”

If Mat was smiling before, the smile that took over her face at her words was rivalling the sun. A deep sigh left his mouth, and it was almost like all the tension that had filled his body since he started speaking had been loosened instantly. His shoulder dropped as the tension fell away and his hands found hers up on his shoulders, holding them tight between them. He went to speak but a shout of ‘LiLi’ filled both of their ears from the living room. Touching his forehead against hers, they both laughed gently as the shouts got closer and more frequently. Pushing back up on her toes, Lina pressed a firm kiss to his cheek before pulling away. Giving him one last peck on the cheek before she properly pulled away.

“Later?” He simply smiled at her question as the sound of small footfalls got closer.

“Later.”

[zolakin]

[weeville]

mother of my mother

[necroangelz]

nothing in the world belongs to me, but my love, mine all mine !!

day 7 of @lavendergalactic's event

“ a character you would die for. / an edit from a new interest of yours. ”

FRIEREN ( and himmel ) EDITS! guh i put so much effort into these and I'm so proud of them... really finishing off this event with a bang! thank you so much for this event, lavender, it was so fun. <3

ring 3d model (1st photo)

rambling under the cut. like/rb appreciated!

NOW PLAYING: My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski !!

please watch this edit pls pls pls pls pls pls pls it's so good PLEASE

anyway yeah i love sousou no frieren sm it's my type of series fr i love fantasy i love stories that focus more on the characters' lives and arcs RAAAAAHHHH

i just had to edit frieren and himmel too yk yk <3 they're so QPR coded but i also love the unrequited elements

I'm so so proud of the 3 graphics at the top... like sure i kinda did conform to popular editing "trends" or styles in this community (?) but fuck you all i don't care I'm happy

[cassiansrebels]

❝she's a rebel.❞

💭 andor monologues:

maarva andor's funeral speech

[whitelightwildflowers]

[get-your-fuckin-star-bitch]

[Previous bit here]

Michael’s fear of fire challenged him only once before the accident, when he’d bumped into a man who looked like he might be around his age, carrying a strange-looking book very gingerly, as if it were some worm-infested piece of trash that he wanted to get rid of.

He’d introduced himself, and Michael had done the same, but without actually shaking his hand. Gerry had laughed at this at first, but then mentioned that it was “a really good idea”, considering the “kind of people you’ve got to be around. Never trust a handshake from a person you don’t know.”

Michael hadn’t known what exactly he’d meant by that back then, but had agreed, because he felt, strangely, as though he really shouldn’t ask.

(Continued below)

He and Michael had burned the book, standing out behind the institute together while the young man took a match and lit the book on fire, letting it drop to the ground as the binding and case began to smolder and blacken.

Michael had felt a thrill of fear flit through him for a brief, burning second, and then Gerard’s hand was on his shoulder.

Not uncomfortable.

“Don’t like fire a lot, I guess?”

Not like it was something he wanted to laugh at.

“It only wants the book… figure we’re good unless someone tries to pour us some gas-and-lighter-fluid milkshakes-“

Michael let out a surprised laugh, and then they both were laughing.

It wasn’t even all that funny- it just… he hadn’t been expecting the milkshakes, and the image had been so incredibly ridiculous- it had startled the laugh right out of him, and with it had flown a bit of the fear.

Did he know that he had helped? Or was it just meant to diffuse some of the tension that had been holding together the silence?

He’d grinned. Michael’d forgotten the fire almost immediately, and grinned back.

Gerry was… strange. But it was the kind of strange that Michael felt more comfortable being around than with others.

He liked good music. Michael showed him his mixtapes, and Gerry looked like he was about to split the sides of his face with his grin. Gerry had some cds, and they’d listen to them on break, out back. His mixes were really good.

He and Gertrude went out sometimes, and so Michael would go and not talk to Martin, or see if anyone needed any help, but often, he’d see that someone’d snuck him useful statements from the archives. A little stickie note with a smiley face scrawled on it was always attached.

A lot of them had sounded fake, and the ones that didn’t never really made any sense, but at least they were there. At least they were something. And at least Michael had a friend.

Sometimes, Michael could find him smoking out in the back, and sometimes they’d talk, but sometimes they just sat. He didn’t mind the smoke. His own dad had smoked. He knew the smell of burning cigarettes well, and it felt peaceful. He was fine.

And then, he… wasn’t.

Nothing felt right about the funeral, from the service to the burial.

Mrs Robinson didn’t want him to touch or go near the body. She didn’t explain to him why, but he knew.

He’d seen her do it.

And now she wouldn’t turn to meet his eyes.

He’d gone home as soon as possible and tried to read from the pile he’d saved of all the statements Gerry’d left on his desk.

He probably had broken several institute rules by taking them home, but he’d needed them. Especially right then, as he tried to focus on the words scrawled on the page.

The stupid rain had been pouring down that day. He hated rain like that. It made him feel cold. And… awful.

He fell asleep to it, that night.

He’d dreamt that Gerry was still there, and that they were sitting in his flat, looking out at the rain.

Gerry wasn’t saying anything. In his dream, Michael had thought that he just wasn’t saying anything cause he somehow felt bad for leaving, even though it wasn’t his fault, and he was about to tell him so, when he looked over at Gerry to find his friend gone.

In his place was a burning woman.

Michael awoke with a start to find the pile of files and statements gone, and in its place, a lump of smoldering ash.

—————

Jude Perry had been asked, by Elias, to start a fire in the institute on March 30th, 2015. He had given her the keys. She was told to melt it into an unusable pile of metal once she was done, and assured that he would know if she kept them. There were far worse ways to die than to burn.

She hadn’t been happy about not being able to burn away any of his precious papers, which he’d insisted she make sure not to do. But when she was told she’d be roasting up Gertrude’s little pet so that Elias would be able to kill the old hag… she’d accepted the deal with pleasure.

It was an even bigger surprise — a pleasant one —when the smoldering scent of fear rolled off of the man in waves at the sight of the flames… a wonderful little extra treat…Elias had really outdone himself. The fear had been intoxicating… she’d almost laughed out loud when it hit her.

She hadn’t been anticipating that stupid door to be coming after him, too, though… but the man couldn’t hide forever. He’d either suffocate, or burn… and while she didn’t feel quite as thrilled by the idea of him simply choking to death… perhaps he’d be alive enough to feel the flames peeling his flesh away and turning it to charcoal, once the door she’d been blocked by had finally melted away.

The door did not blacken.

She did not open it.

It had not been there when she’d first looked at the wall.

And then she was out somewhere else, and it wasn’t where she’d wanted to go.

…Fine.

It Is Not What It Is could keep its stupid meal.

She would just have to find something else to burn.

[ Part One ] [ Part Two ] [ Part Three????? Maybe? ]

[made4myspace]

[cienie-isengardu]

The Funeral Rites of the Clone Troopers - What happens to the body of dead clone, part II

<The psychological and spiritual preparations for death pre-war>☾❖☽  <What happens to the body of dead clone trooper [part 1] [part2] ☾❖☽ <Conclusion>

NOTE: Please keep in mind that the following text may include disturbing to some readers source material. Especially quotes about how triage points works with selection of which wounded have a chance to survive and who doesn’t and the general medical care (or lack of therefor) provided by Republic is a sensitive topic. Everything comes from published sources so I count it as “canon typical violence” but I also understand that some people may find the subject of this part uncomfortable and if so, I advise to skip reading quotes (marked in orange color)  

What happens to the body of a dead clone? PART II 

The previously presented sources focused mainly on troopers killed directly in widely understood action, when the survivors had time and possibility to perform funeral rites. However clones didn’t die only on battlefronts or during quick missions. Some were injured and died at one of medical triage points, Republic Mobile Surgical Units (for short RMSUs or "Rimsoos“), medical ships and Medcentres or died on the way to one of those places.

TRIAGE POINTS were a very important part of the Republic medical procedures. Here the wounded were segregated according to the person’s type of injuries and chance of survival by medical staff. Sadly, getting wounded men to established triage area didn’t guarantee survival, as was mentioned in:

[NOVEL] MedStar: Battle Surgeons by Michael Reaves & Steve Perry

This run was a bad one. There were four full lifters, which meant sixteen wounded troopers. Three had died en route, and one was too far gone to attempt resuscitation - one of the nurses administered euthanasia while Jos, Zan, Barriss, and three other surgeons scrubbed up.

    One of the clones was covered with third-degree burns; they had to cut his armor free. He had literally been cooked by a flame projector. Fortunately, one of the three working bacta tanks they had was empty, and the trooper was quickly immersed in a nutrient bath.

    The condition of the remaining eleven ranged from critical to guarded, and were triaged accordingly. [Chapter 6]

or 

The multiple-repulsor drone of incoming medlifters filtered into Barriss's sleep, and the siren that sounded almost immediately afterward meant that everybody within earshot needed to get to the OT. Now.

    She dressed hurriedly and headed for the triage area. It was only twenty meters from her cubicle, but the humidity was so high today, she felt that she was wading through a pool of heated fleek oil.

    When she got to the building, she stopped, momentarily unable to believe her eyes. Thirty-five or forty wounded troopers lay on stretchers, on gurneys, on the floor itself, being tended by doctors, nurses, droids, techs - anybody, in short, who could help. Most of the troops were bloody, and many were burned, with weeping red blisters and scorched black patches. Some were missing arms and legs.

    Some were all of those things, and more.

    Still more injured were incoming. She could barely hear the whine of the lifters' repulsor fields over the cries and groans of the wounded. Barriss swallowed, nauseated. Even doctors could be overwhelmed by too much gore. Nothing she had ever seen in her wartime experience so far had been anything close to this.

    Tolk was calling triage, and it was short and to the point. Barriss watched her for a moment. To anybody outside the medical field and the battlefield, triage would seem remarkably cruel, but she knew it was the most efficient way to save the most patients.

    "This one won't make it," Tolk said, rising from the side of a sergeant whose legs had been blown off above the knees. His skin was chalk white, and from the red, ragged stumps the last of his life's blood was dripping slowly. Following behind Tolk was a droid, which attached a pulse-sticker to the dying clone's shoulder. A large, red x glowed rhythmically.

    Tolk moved quickly to the next patient, examined him briefly. "Shrapnel wounds to the belly and groin. Surgery, category three."

    The droid put a sticker on the man's shoulder. The number 3 throbbed on it.

    Barriss bent to examine the trooper closest to her - a lieutenant. He was awake and alert; his only injury seemed to be that his left arm was gone, blown off in a ragged stump just above the elbow. A constrictor around the stump had stopped the bleeding. His gaze met hers.

    "I'm good," he said through clenched teeth. "Take care of my men."

    "He can wait," Barriss said to Tolk. "Five."

    Tolk nodded at the droid, who affixed a number 5 pulse-sticker to the man's good shoulder.

When there were fewer doctors than patients, one had to rank the injured as to survivability and the time necessary to keep them alive. Rimsoo category numbers ran from 1 through 6; category X was reserved for injuries that appeared mortal or very time-consuming to treat. The rating system was more complex than it appeared. The injury, survival chances, and need for immediate treatment all had to be taken into account. A severed artery might bleed out in a minute and all it would take to save the patient would be a simple staple or suture tie, so it would be best to treat him first, whereas a man with his leg blown off but heat-cauterized from a blaster bolt could be left until more life-threatening injuries had been dealt with. Making these decisions, the Padawan knew, was often as much intuition as science.

    A 6 meant a patient might survive if treated, but indicated treatment could consume a lot of time and effort, and there were no guarantees he would make it. But 6 could also mean that the injury was not likely to be fatal if not treated right away. Either way, a 6 waited. A 5 meant survival chances were higher and treatment less time-intensive, and so on down the count. The triage caller had to use experience to make the decisions, and thus had to be knowledgeable in treating the kinds of injuries coming in. A droid stepped up to Barriss. "I am to assist you, Padawan," it said. In one hand it held a pad of pulse-stickers.

    Barriss nodded, turned to the next stretcher, and gasped. Before her was a terrible sight: a trooper with all four limbs burned down to stumps, and nothing but red, suppurating tissue where his face had been. On Coruscant, or Corellia, or any of the other hundreds of civilized worlds, technology could attach cybernetic limbs and reconstruct his face-he would be a strange hybrid of machine and man, but at least he would be alive and relatively functional. But here on Drongar, they had no facilities even remotely capable of such things. She bit her lip and turned to the droid assigned to her. "Category X," she said.

    The droid applied the sticker, then looked at her. "A purgation of fire," it said. Barriss thought it was an odd comment for a droid to make, but she had no time to wonder about it. The wounded were being brought in so fast that she had to keep moving or be overrun.

    She had damped down on her connection to the Force as much as she could; extrasensory experience of this much agony at this close range carried a real possibility of synaptic overload. Even closed down as she was, she could still feel the pain, the fear, the horror of it all pounding and scrabbling at her mind. She swallowed dryly and kept moving. There were some here she knew she could heal with the Jedi arts she had learned, but it would take too long. Not even the Force could mitigate the cold and brutal equations of triage.

    Ahead of her, Tolk continued moving through the maze of dead and dying, followed by her droid, desig-nating who would live and who would almost certainly die. The fact that they were clones, all identical in ap-pearance, in no way lessened the horror; in fact, in a strange way it increased it-at least that was so for Bar-riss. Seeing the same body wounded and traumatized in a thousand different ways gave the whole scene a sur-real aspect, as if it had no beginning and no end, a per-petual loop of pain and death.

    She knew she had to focus, had to utilize the resources at hand wisely.

    Tolk moved to the next patient, slipped in a patch of blood, recovered her balance. She veered toward Barriss, who was looking at another wounded trooper. The Jedi shook her head.

    Another x, its red glow waxing and waning like the flow of lives all about them, was applied by the droid.

    They were dying like wingstingers hitting a zap field, and nothing Jos did seemed to matter. A repaired artery held without leaking, but the patient was too far into shock to come back, even with his blood volume pumped to the max. Another patient, without a mark on him, was smiling one second and dead the next. A scanner showed that a sliver of metal, thinner than a needle, had pierced the corner of his eye and gone deep into his brain.

    Despite the floor-level pressor fields, those working in the OT were at times up to their ankles in blood, urine, feces, lymph and spinal fluid. The air coolers and dehumidifiers were still not working, and the stench, combined with oppressive wet heat, overwhelmed the scents of antiseptics and astringents. The surgeons cut and re-sected and transplanted with practiced efficiency, their nurses and what few droids they had at their sides, and yet the patients still didn't make it. Commands, both shouted and whispered, filled the reeking air: "-need twenty cc's coagulin, stat-"

    "-rotate the bacta tanks, no one gets more than ten minutes-"

    "-keep that field going, even if you have to hand-crank it-"

    After two hours' work Jos was five for five-none of them had lived. He was beginning to reel with exhaustion - it was taking nearly all he had just to keep his hands steady. [Chapter 13]

[NOVEL] Jedi Trial by David Sherman and Dan Cragg

But before they could get out of the aid station, casualties from the ongoing assault started coming in and all the pair could do was step aside and wait for the flow of injured to stop. It didn't, and what they saw on the litters bearing the wounded was horrible. [...]

The surgeons established a triage. One had the job of examining each litter case as it came in and, depending on whether he thought the victim could be saved or not, determining where to put the soldier; these decisions were made in a matter of seconds. The unsaved far outnumbered the saved.

The worst were the burn cases, clones stripped of their armor, so badly incinerated that their limbs had been reduced to charred sticks, their faces to blackened skulls, uniform fragments fused to their flesh. Yet somehow they lived. None of these were put into the saved category. Others lay in pools of their own blood, limbs missing, internal organs exposed. Still others had obviously died before they were brought to the field hospital. They lay still on their litters, bodies bouncing as the litter bearers jounced them along. Over all was a dreadful silence; hardly any of the wounded screamed or moaned - they were all in shock, an orderly informed Erk as he brushed by.

[NOVEL] Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth by Karen Miller

Threading a path between hurrying medics and clone troopers and scattered bits of Grievous's destroyed army, Anakin let the Force guide him to where he needed to be.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka sat side-by-side on crates in a hastily setup triage area, just outside an entrance into the spynet building. [...]

Ahsoka's pain-pinched face lit up. "Master! You're all right!"

"Of course I am, Padawan," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His bored tone was designed to reassure her, but it wasn't working, as the answer to his flip question was lying all around them: triaged clone troopers, most stoically silent, waiting for the next medevac flight to arrive. Beyond them, decently shrouded, lay the bodies of those men who hadn't been so fortunate. And then, of course, there were the men who'd died going up against Grievous and his droid starfighters.

The examples fit well with the source material mentioned in the previous part. Thus we can assume that clones who died at triage points suited straight on or really close to battlefront will join the bodies of troopers directly killed in fight and be buried when the remaining GAR will have time and opportunity to do so. Sadly there is no explanation how the Republic procedures work, especially since the battle of Kothlis (TCW: Gambit - Stealth) was fought in the middle of the city and the advanced(?) urban space is not exactly the most suited place to bury anyone.

Medstar: Battle Surgeons and its sequel, Medstar: Jedi Healer (both written by the same authors) provides additional information about what happens to the dead bodies of clone troopers. For one, the sequel mentioned that Rimsoo has morgue to where droids headed with patients that died during operation:

Jos glanced at Uli, and then at Tolk, who said, "Uli seems to be doing okay. The orderly droids just wheeled his first patient out and they weren't heading toward the morgue. He's a cute kid." Tos shook his head. "Yeah. Cute." 

Logically thinking, the Republic Mobile Surgical Units had an intended place to keep corpses for a certain period of time but the space wasn’t boundless and its contents had to be emptied at some point. Especially when the hospital was overrun with patients that couldn’t be saved - and as sources mentioned, there were days when “the unsaved far outnumbered the saved”.

Morgues in general are a good place to store bodies that were meant to be identified, examined or claimed by authority or family. Star Wars’s advanced technology allows to preserve and transport the remains of people in a very good conditions and from the various sources it seems Republic provided such courtesy, either for 

political reasons like for example returning the body of Tofen Vane [The Clone Wars: Hero of the Confederacy, part 3]

practical, like during investigation the massacre on the planet of Devaron, in which Delta Squad brought back the bodies of killed there Jedi

Mysterious deaths! Unknown to the Jedi, a new threat has unleashed on the galaxy: Savage Opress, a pawn in the dangerous game between Count Dooku and his former assassin, Ventress. The victims of his brutal massacre on the planet of Devaron are being returned to the Jedi Temple for evaluation. It's up to the Jedi Council to find this mysterious killer, and eradicate him.... - the opening of The Clone Wars, s03e14: Witches of the Mist

or due to moral (sentimental) duty, like collecting and returning bodies of killed in action Jedi on Geonosis

Weary and heart-sore, Yoda stood in silence with his fellow Master and friend Mace Windu, watching as efficient clone troopers swiftly, methodically, and not unkindly loaded the last of the slain Jedi onto repulsorlift pallets, then pushed them one-handed out of Poggle the Lesser's brutal arena to the Republic transport ships waiting beyond its high walls. They were supervised by those few Jedi who had survived the slaughter and the military engagement that followed it...and who were not as serenely detached as Temple philosophy might dictate. [...]

He watched as Talia Moonseeker withdrew to a discreet distance, so the body of her slain former Master might be decently carried from the arena by the tireless clones who had fought this day, and died this day, so utterly single-minded and fearless that he thought of droids, not men-droids of flesh and blood, bred and drilled to be perfectly disciplined, perfectly lethal. [The Clone Wars: Wild Space by Karen Miller]

or Obi-Wan’s wish to give a proper burial to supposedly dead Asajj Ventress [Star Wars Obsession #5].

Take her to Coruscant for a proper funeral. Her whole life has been lived on battlefield. She shouldn't be buried on one too...

Even the Medstar sequel points out that personal items of the killed surgeon, Zan Yant, were sent back to his family.

When Zan had died, it had fallen to Jos to clean out his friend's belongings. He had packed up most of the stuff-the quetarra, clothes, book readers, and the like - and had it shipped to Zan's family, back on Talus. But hidden away under Zan's cot had been something he hadn't included in the personal effects package: Zan's supply of processed bota.

The difference between mentioned examples and the situation of clone troopers is that clones did not have any “legal” family to which their bodies could be returned to. They had brothers but their comrades at arms weren’t considered the citizens of the Republic, thus did not have any real civil rights to actually exert any pressure in regard to how clone remains were treated. 

This leads us to another information provided by Medstar duology - in medical places, organs of deceased clones could be transplanted into another injured soldier, as was mentioned by:

Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 7 — The Grand Army of the Republic (III) by Jason Fry (published on starwars.com in 2014)

“Replacement organs and body parts, either made of cloned tissue or taken from dead clones, were close at hand in nutrient tanks. (The surgical ward where dead clones “donated” usable organs for the tanks had the macabre nickname of the discard pile.)

After surgery, soldiers would be taken to a recovery ward or, for more severe cases, a bacta tank. Those who needed more than a few days to recover were transferred to a MedStar– or Pelta-class medical frigate, and often brought to one of the Republic medical stations. Aboard these spoked space stations, medics cared for tens of thousands of soldiers at a time, working diligently to repair bodies and minds so units could return to the battlefield.

and

Medstar: Battle Surgeons by Michael Reaves and Steve Perry:

She stepped closer. The naked body lay on the table, intubated and dotted with sensor lines and drips. He did not appear wounded or injured, but the skin was a mottled purplish color - it looked like one gigantic bruise.

"He's been hit with a disruptor field," Zan said. "Bioscan shows his central nervous system's been fried. I thought we could do something, but he's past that. Autonomic functions are stable on life sustain right now, but they won't last. And even if we could reestablish consciousness, he'd be nothing but meat."

"What can be done?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. We can harvest his organs, use 'em to patch up the next one who needs a kidney or a heart." He started to gesture to the droid, but Barriss stopped him.

and

At GB7 he was directed to a tiny 4.5-square-meter billet, barely large enough for the bunk-and-locker combination that constituted CT-914's home away from-actually, Jos realized, it was just his home. Unless one counted the vat from which the clone had been decanted in Tipoca City on the waterworld Kamino, CT-914 had no place else he could call his own.

The bed had been made to military precision, the blankets as smooth as the surface of a neutron star. The locker was ajar, and closer inspection proved it to be empty.

What was puzzling, however, was the spot over the head of the bed, where the trooper's designation should have been. Instead of reading ct-914, the frame was empty.

Jos spied a Dressellian corporal nearby and hailed him. The Dressellian, surly like most of his species, saluted somewhat resentfully upon recognizing a superior officer. Jos asked him where Nine-one-four was.

"In the recycling vats, most likely," was the shocking reply. "Along with most of his platoon. They were ambushed by a Separatist guerrilla attack two days ago."

The Dressellian waited a moment, then, seeing that the human captain was not likely to be asking any more questions immediately, saluted again and continued about his business.

Jos slowly left the garrison, stunned. In the last hour or so he had come to think of Nine-one-four as exem-plifying all of his newfound knowledge of the clones' essential humanity, and to suddenly learn that he was dead was almost as big a shock as hearing of the death of an old friend or a loved one. He had felt compelled to seek the clone out and apologize to him, hoping that, somehow, such an expiation would simplify some of the challenges of an awareness that now included respect toward more than organic life alone. But instead he'd found that CT-914 had joined his vat-brother, CT-915, in death. And Jos knew that it would be a long time, if ever, before their deaths, and all the others perpetrated by this war, would seem to be anything but senseless and despicable.

None of the presented sources provided a clear answer what happens with bodies of the dead, especially after taking out the needed organs. Who buried them and where? Or were the bodies cremated as a way of fast utilizing? The Rimsoss operated close to frontlines - close enough to save the wounded as fast as possible, not close enough to be in the middle of battle (though Separatists liked to target those mobile hospitals) so in theory, they could have cemetery of sort and for safety of other patience, the dead couldn’t stay forever in morgues or just lay around and take space intended for wounded. Sadly, the Republic procedures for such a scenario weren't explained in much detail.

There is however an interesting potential for “religious” aspect and/or psychological comfort in the transplantation of organs that keeps seriously wounded soldiers alive. A clone carrying a part of their fallen brother, in a metaphysical and literal sense, could be seen as “keeping the dead one alive” too albeit sadly, this subject is barely touched on as far as my research showed.

The above source material was focused on frontline reality of triage points and Rimsoos which provided the first medical aid for wounded. The injured clones were also transported to more advanced medical stations and here the situation of burials may complicate. For one, some hospitals were stationed on the surface of the planets (e.g. New Holstice) while others were literal space stations.

[Source: TCW:S01E03 - Shadow of Malevolence)

In the case of the latter, there is no access to solid ground to perform skeleton burial that seems to be preferred by GAR frontline procedures. This is of course just speculation on my part, but I do think that cremating bodies in space medcenters could be a real possibility if we take into account the limited space and lack of resources. Interestingly, shorty after Clone Wars there was at least one crematorium on Coruscant, as was mentioned in comics Darth Vader and the Ghost Prison:

A few weeks after the end of the Clone Wars, I attended a military council on Imperial Center. Between meaningless meetings and briefings, I wandered outside to escape the drone of Moffs. And saw that. The Imperial Crematorium. Each transport carries twenty dead imperials. In the time we’ve been here, nearly one hundred officers and troopers have been reduced to ash. 

Though the source is about Imperial times, the crematorium could exist much earlier and frankly, in the few weeks after the end of the Clone Wars, clones were still the majority of soldiers serving the Empire. Which suggests that some dead clone troopers presumbly killed in action were sent to crematorium instead of buried in the ground. 

Additionally, some medcenters were run by Kaminoan doctors and scientists and Kaminoans in general considered clones to be just property. Which is why cremating - as the more pragmatic and relatively easy way to “get rid of unwanted remains” - fits the Kaminoan mindset about clones in my opinion. 

Another thing to consider about medical stations run by Kaminoans is how other people have a little control over what is happening there. For one, the safety of medcenters were an important matter for the Republic, thus the applicable precautions such as limited access to communication with the outside world, as was pointed out in the book The Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth by Karen Miller:

With her fractured ribs swiftly and neatly healed and her other scrapes and burns and bruises consigned to memory-the Kaminoans even fixed the slight defect in her central montral, which was good of them, she grudgingly allowed - she was free to wander the unrestricted areas of the uncomfortably white and high-ceilinged medcenter, or keep up with her lightsaber drills along any handily empty circular corridor she could find.

What she wasn't allowed to do was contact Anakin with an update, or sit with Captain Rex and Sergeant Coric while they were in their bacta chambers, or visit with any other Torrent Company clones who'd been consigned here. And she hadn't been permitted to bid farewell to those who'd died in this sterile place despite the Kaminoans' best efforts to save them.

And that wasn't fair.

and

“Ahsoka!” Anakin’s hologram jittered and warped, the signal struggling to punch through the nebula’s interference. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I was right up in the…”

“Never mind. What’s going on? You were supposed to give me regular updates!”

Was it the poor transmission quality or was his face practically black with oil? “I tried, Master, only…” She looked around, but the two Kaminoans sharing the comm center were busy with their own conversations. Still, to be on the safe side she hunched over the holotransmitter and lowered her voice. “They wouldn’t let me, Skyguy. They took my comlink and they won’t give it back!”

“It’s probably procedure,” said Anakin. “How’s Rex? How’s Carie? Have you seen them? When will they be discharged?”

“I don’t know!” She was practically wailing, and she didn’t care. “All I know is that Rex was hurt a lot worse than I realized. The last time I saw him he was talking, he didn’t look like he was…” She couldn’t say it. “But they won’t let me see him, or the sergeant, and they won’t tell me anything except they’re not dead.”

Anakin sighed. “That’s probably procedure, too. But if they’re not dead-that’s something. That’s good, Ahsoka.”

He sounded so relieved. It made her feel better, knowing he was as sick with worry on Coruscant as she was here. It made him seem less far away.”

If a Jedi commander staying at Medcenter or Jedi General worrying about his men weren’t told what was happening to the injured troopers in any great detail - or were not told at all - then logically thinking clones have an even lesser chance to learn about the fate of their injured or dying brothers (beside that they died at some point). Ahsoka even mentions that she wasn’t allowed to pay a visit to hospitalized there clones that served under her and General Skywalker nor to bid farewell to those who'd died.

Similarly to the Kaminoans, the medical droids like the one serving in Medbay on Republic assault ship Leveler also usually bar clones worrying about their comrades from the treatment areas. It didn’t work on Omega Squad though since the machine couldn’t order the commandos to go away. And only because Niner, Atin and Darman were so stubborn to stay and wait for injured Fi to wake up, they managed to save their brother once the droid declared him brain dead and actually disconnected from the life-support machinery.

  The senior med droid repositioned the sensors, checked the readout, and then stood back in processing mode for a few moments, the panel on its chest flickering through a sequence.

    Then it unhooked the filaments from the breather mask and removed the tube from Fi's throat. Darman couldn't work out what was going on at first. But Fi's chest wasn't moving, no rise and fall of steady breaths, and that was the point at which Darman started to think in terms of going in there and resuscitating like he'd been taught. The droid seemed to be watching Fi intently. Then it turned away to the trolley full of instruments, slipping items into the steribag for autoclaving.

    "That's it, I'm going to..."

    And then Fi took a long gasping breath and coughed. The droid spun around as if it hadn't been expecting that at all. Fi was breathing on his own again, but he certainly wasn't conscious.

    Darman was a stride from the doors when Niner stepped in his way and pushed through ahead of him.

    "Droid," he said, "you want to tell me what's going on? What happened there? Is he okay?"

    The med droid placed more sensors on Fi, this time on his chest and throat. "He's breathing unaided, and I wasn't anticipating that outcome."

    "So why did you take the shabla tube out of him, then?" Darman snapped. He got the picture now, all right. They thought Fi was dead. "What's that about?"

    The droid just followed its protocols. It dealt with a steady stream of wounded and dying men every day, and Fi was no more special to it than the next trooper. It was nothing personal at all. "His brain scan showed insufficient activity."

    "You mean you pulled the plug on him?"

    "I assessed him as brain-dead. That's still my professional opinion. The medical protocol is that we don't continue life support if a patient is still showing isoelectric scans after forty-eight hours." The droid paused. "Flatlining, I believe you call it."

    The words hit Darman like a punch in the gut. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Republic medical care was the best there was: prosthetic limbs, bacta, microsurgery, nanophar-maceuticals, you name it, the stuff of which miraculous recoveries were made. Fi couldn't end up like this. Darman refused to accept it.

   [...]

    "Clones can be very disruptive to the orderly running of this unit," it said. "I tire of explaining our protocols to you, which is why I usually bar your kind from the treatment areas." So this wasn't the first argument the droid had had with a man's comrades, then. "But I have no authorization to transfer a patient in this state to any facility, so what happens to RC-eight-zero-one-five when we transfer the wounded is outside my authority."

    Niner stood back to let Darman and Atin steer the gurney across to the treatment bays. They now had an audience of droids and walking wounded. "You mean you don't know what to do with him."

    "That's what I said, isn't it?"

    The droid let them take Fi. It was a busy droid that didn't have time to argue with RCs who weren't going to take no for an answer, and Darman felt brief guilt for tying up resources when there were wounded vode with less clout in dire need. But Fi was his brother, and if Darman didn't look out for him then the whole fabric of his tight-knit world, the small circle of people who were his life, meant nothing.

    Niner pulled the bay shutters across to give Fi some privacy, and the three men crowded in as best they could, shoulder plates scraping one another. They had no idea what to do with Fi, either, except lay him in a coma position, make sure his saline line was clear - Sergeant Gilamar's combat medic course back in Tipoca was ingrained in them - and get on the comlink to someone who'd be able to sweep aside the bureaucracy and osik back on Coruscant: Kal Skirata.

(And even putting Fi into hospital on Coruscant didn’t solve the problem, as he was once again almost terminated by medical droids. This time it was a befriended citizen (Besanny)’s interference that saved the clone commando). 

In contrast, in Medstar: Battle Surgeons there was a clone trooper who waited outside the operation room to learn what happened to his wounded batch-mate. Jedi Barris Offee was curious why he was standing in the medical ward if he was healthy as she recognized him as her former patient while the doctor Jos Vondar (surgeon who operated on the wounded) did not withhold information from the soldier nor rebuke for being there in the first place. 

Barriss was on her way to the medical ward when she passed a trooper standing in the hall outside the main operating theater. He didn't seem to be doing anything other than simply standing there, staring at a blank wall.

    To the unaided eye, they all looked alike, but to one who was connected to the Force, this was not the case. She knew this one. He had been her patient.

    She stopped. "CT-Nine-one-four," she said.

    He looked at her. "Yes?"

    She could feel his question roiling in his mind, and she smiled. "You might all look alike, but you aren't all the same. Your experiences shape you as much as your her-itage. The Force can recognize this."

    He nodded. She regarded him. "You have no problems with your blood pressure," she said, and it was not a question - she knew it was true.

    "No. I feel fine-physically."

    "Why, then, are you here?"

    She felt rather than saw Jos Vondar emerge from the OT behind her, was aware of him listening.

    "I helped transport another trooper here yesterday. CT-Nine-one-five."

    "Ah. And how does he fare?"

"I don't know. He's still in surgery."

    Jos drifted over. "Nine-one-five? He, ah, didn't make it."

    The wave of grief that broke from CT-914 and washed over Barriss was sudden and strong. To look at his face, however, it was hardly apparent that he felt this deep emotional chord. He said, "Unfortunate. He was" - he hesitated, just a heartbeat or two, - "a good soldier. The loss of someone so well trained is... regrettable."

    Barriss could see that, even without the Force, Jos picked up on something either in CT-914's tone of voice or his body language, as subtle as both were. He said, "You knew him?"

    "He was decanted just after me. We trained together, were posted here together, we were part of the same cohort." CT-914 hesitated again. "He... I thought of him as my brother."

    Jos frowned. "But you're all brothers, in a sense."

    "True." The clone trooper straightened. "Thank you for your efforts to save him, Doctor. I'm going back to my unit now."

    He turned and strode away. Barriss and Jos watched him go. [...] - Medstar: Battle Surgeons

The CT-Nine-one-four did not ask to see the body of his batch-mate nor what will happen to the remains, which can be interpreted in various ways. Either he wasn’t ready to see his brother due to overwhelming emotional pain or he thought the doctors wouldn’t allow for that (as Kaminoans wouldn’t most likely) or he knew the procedures and assumed the body was already taken to the hospital morgue and there he could say his goodbye to lost comrade - something that if happened, was simply not mentioned to the readers. 

Those examples lead me to believe that the more advanced the medcenter was (as in, run by Kaminoans) or administrated by med droids alone, the less control clones have over the fate of their brothers’ wellbeing and in the case of death, their remains. On the frontline, the troopers - if there is time and possibility to do so - may bury them in the way they feel appropriate (e.g. leaving weapons and helmets as a way to mark the graves). In widely understood medcentres however there are a number of procedures that have not been detailed much in source material and for all we know, the clone deceased may be mass cremated, as it seems to be the case in the early imperial era.    

Next part: Conclusions

[thousandyearmemories]

🪻MOD SPOTLIGHT: JUNO — GRAPHICS🪻

Please give a warm and big welcome to @lichjuno, who is creating not only amazing Frieren art but also our graphics to keep you all informed 🪄🎨

(Meet the whole Team on our Carrd!)

[pama-saga]

I think I will never die.

[boatbal]

I wish i could've colored all of this, but it takes too much time