#grief/mourning

[bebs-art-gallery]

Christmas Eve at the Grave (1896) by Otto Hesselbom ❅ New Year’s Night (1984) by Sergei Andriyaka

[darkpoetrynprose]

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

― Jamie Anderson

[missnarcissistsworld]

Is there another life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

- John Keats

[notidee]

The Void Behaves

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny turned his face up toward the sky, letting Gothams rain poor down his face. His husband, Tim, had loved this city-to the point of dying for it while wearing a mask.

The court of owls had been cowardly, and honestly Danny should have expected that from a bunch of entitled rich people. Many of the bats were there taking down the courts lackeys but there wasn't any signs of the Talons, which made sense since they seemed to act oddly around Phantom and just kinda flopped onto the ground and bared thier necks to him. Wierd.

Everyone was fighting, so no one noticed the tip of a snipers rifle poking out of a crag in the cave walls until it was too late. A shot was fired.

And Tim was on the floor

Danny didn't remember much after that. He remembers Nightwing holding his little brother while Batman came to his side. He remembers the other bats running off to find the sniper and Danny just...stood there. He stared at Tims blood splatter and the gray matter all over the floor. The bullet had went through his head had killed him quickly but this didn't comfort him. The scene was so gruesome but he couldn't bring himself to look away as his vision was consumed by green.

The next time he became aware Nightwing was in front of him, asking him to turn himself in. Confused, he asked what he had done only to learn he had hunted down every Court of Owls member like a man possessed and torn them to shreds. No one was sure how Phantom knew who was a member or not especially while he was in that state, but it didn't change the face that Phantom had killed so many people.

Danny was horrified. How could he had done this? He had never experienced the pit rage before and never thought he would. But here he was having lost almost two weeks of time and gaining more blood on his hands than he knew what to do with.

So Danny, not wanting to argue or-ancients forbid- fight his family-in-law while everyone was grieving, agreed to turn himself in.

So he did.

He never agreed to stick around for an interrogation or a trial though. So he didn't.

The cops never even learned of his true identity before he took off but he knew it wasn't safe to stay in Gotham anymore. Heck, it probably wasn't safe to stay on Earth anymore with all the heroes that would be after him if the bats so much as asked. And there was no way he could go back to his own dimensions Earth either.

...but that didn't mean all Earths where out of the question.

---

Danny had finally gotten settled in this new dimension. Starting over was always hard but he had done it before. Grabbing a gig as a freelance translator and editor for a few publication companies was pretty easy when you knew what cards to play and what people to call. Plus, Danny was really good at making false identities and translating, so that helped a ton.

At night he would keep a look out his window, trying to spot the bats of this world, as as much as it hurt him to do so, he always delighted in seeing this worlds Tim running along the rooftops.

This went on for a while until Danny started getting nauseous and intense pain in his chest and abdomen. It was bad enough that he sniffed out this worlds Dr Thomkins pretty quickly and asked her to give him a check up.

Upon doing an ultrasound she found a strange sphere in his chest, which he assured her was normal, and an embryo growing in his abdomen which was very much not. Danny laid on the examination table for a solid few seconds and Dr. Tomkins was about to start rattling off his options to him before her patient started crying. "Oh thank the stars."

Danny explained that this was the child of his late husband who was murdered and he was very happy to have this baby. Sure, he had most of his personal affects (he had cleaned out his and Tims shared home and safe houses on his way out of the dimension, much to the absolue ire of the other bats) but this was a little living piece of his husband, which was something so much more.

But this also meant he had to leave again. This worlds Tim was just like the one that he lost and he had no doubt that some way, some how, Tim would find out about this child. Could he explain this in a way that was satisfactory? Could he handle Tim coming in and out of his home to visit "his" child as he would undoubtedly do? Could he stand to see the face of a man who looked like his husband, talked like his husband, and acted like his husband, but wasn't? No. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to Tim. He refused to replace one Tim for another. That was so callus and shallow. He would never do something like that, grief or no grief. He was strong. He'd be strong for Tim.

He paid the doctor and thanked her profusely before leaving and going back to his apartment. He hadn't even unpacked most of his stuff before he was packing it all back up again. He needed to find a world where:

1. Tim was nothing like the Tim he had known and loved

2. Tim was not old enough to take custody of thier child if he ever found out

3. Batman was not around

4. Damian didn't exist. He was usually pretty cool with the little gremlin but he doesn't think he could listen to him insult Tim and not throttle a literal child.

5. It was not impossible to raise a child

The list could probably use some work but that was the gist of it for now.

-------

Danny had finally found his perfect Gotham after weeks or interdimentional travel and countless jumps. Well, perfect probably wasn't the right word for a place like Gotham but his point still stands.

He once again found himself sitting on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the city. He and his husband had liked to sit and chat in these kinds of places when patrol was slow. Now Danny was sitting alone in the rain in one of Tims old jackets reminiscing. Suddenly hearing a grapple line connect with the building startled him out of his thoughts.

Nightwing landed nearby and for a moment Danny thought he was here to insist Danny turns himself in again before he was reminded that this wasn't the same Nightwing and Danny hadn't committed any crimes here. Well. No violent ones at least. Forging a fake identity requires much criming as it turns out.

Nightwing approached him slowly and cautiously as if he expected Danny to bolt at any second. That wasn't comforting. "Hey," the big bird greeted calmly, "How about you step away from the edge? If there's something on your mind I'm sure we can talk it out, alright?"

Danny opened his mouth and then shut it again. Opening it again he blurted out, "I'm not gonna jump."

Looking doubtful, Nightwing gestured for him to come toward him and away from the edge, and if Nightwing were anyone other than a bat he would not have obliged as he did. Once Danny was safely away from falling to his doom the vigilante began asking questions.

After everything was answered and birdy was sure Danny was safe, he made a comment about the jacket and Danny told him it belonged to his late husband who past away recently. This led to Dick egging Danny on as he talked about his husband and grieved.

It was then that Danny showed Nightwing his baby bump and the vigilante was excited for him.

Somehow he and the various bats kept running into eachother around the city and one thing let to another. Before he knew it the bats where coming and going in his apartment to "check up on him"

This worlds Tim was still 16 and loved his role as Robin. He was grieving the loss of Bruce but...this version of Tim was different. Full of light. His smile was brighter and came more often. His humor wasn't as dark and...he was...smol. He began seeing this Tim more like his child than as an alternate version of his lover. Needless to say he planned on spoiling Robin rotten.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. He had a steady income, an apartment, some new friends, and was slowly unpacking.

It was smooth sailing up until his dead husband appeared in his apartment in the middle of the night staring him down with Lazarus green eyes. How had this happened? He was Tims husband and he made absolutely sure Tims body had been cremated (another thing the bats were mad about since Bruce and Tim were Jewish). Tim has specifically asked for cremation to avoid a situation like this where Ras got his creepy little hands on him.

But why would Ras send Tim here? How did Tim get here? How did Tim find him? Why did Tim show up in his apartment on random nights and then disappear into the city when he tried to ask him answers? Why did Tim barely speak? Was this a clone or the original?

Was this even real? Or was he finally losing his mind?

[nmolesofadrenaline]

[lets-try-some-writing]

Farewell Little Hero

Humans do not live long, this is common knowledge. And so years after Cybrtron's restoration, Arcee returns to Earth to talk with her old ward one more time.

(Enjoy this short story :D)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

“It’s been a long time… I’m sorry for taking so long to come see you again.” Sitting down on the grass, Arcee did not look toward her ward. Her optics were firmly on the rising sun in the distance.

“I am sure you have been wondering what we’ve been up to.” She continued with a deep vent to calm herself. So many years away from Earth… she had almost forgotten how beautiful the organic world could be when war was not eating away at her conscience. 

“Bumblebee is doing just fine. He’s an Enforcer now. Last I checked, he was leading a team here on Earth to capture rogue Decepticons.” Birds chirped in the distance, but Arcee’s ward did not answer. She did not look away from where the sun crept ever higher, she couldn't bear to. 

“He has a collection of younger bots with him. Strongarm, Sideswipe, Windblade, Grimlock, and an older mech called Drift. There are three minicons as well, but I didn’t have a chance to learn their names.” Arcee informed absentmindedly as she tracked a leaf that blew past in the wind. It was almost Autumn, Jack’s preferred time of year. He liked being able to wear long sleeves and a sweater without cooking alive in the heat of Nevada’s notoriously aggressive summer rays. 

Jack had even gone so far as to go on vacation out in Missouri and occasionally Alaska just to get a taste of some decent cold after spending his whole life in the air fryer that was Jasper. Arcee could vividly recall his various complaints about the heat over the years. He wasn’t particularly fond of the frigid cold either, but he always had a good time bundling up once and a while to enjoy snow in a different state. 

“I think you would have gotten along with Bumblebee more, at least now that he’s learned what it’s like to deal with those younger than him regularly.” The grass was uncomfortable as it slipped into seams in her plating and caressed her cabling like the skittering limbs of scraplets, but she paid it no mind as the sky turned from black, to purple, and then to a bright orange. Cybertron’s sky did not have such color in the early joors of the cycle, at least not like on Earth. It was such a small thing, but Arcee missed it during her time away.

“Bulkhead has taken on a position as an architect. I never would have thought he had it in him, but he enjoys working to return our world to its former glory.” A smile pulled at her face as she recalled the various instances of Bulkhead sighing in exasperation at Vehicons and other workers under his command. They had no clue what they were doing, but they tried their best. Bulkhead was patient, at least as much as a mech once belonging to the Wreckers could be. 

“There have been more than a few accidents, but he recently restored the Archives of Iacon under Optimus’s direct supervision. I think you would have laughed if you saw just how nervous Bulkhead was while working on the project.” A quiet chuckle escaped her vocalizer as she recalled the intensity of which Optimus devoted himself to the Archives restoration. Bulkhead had been so anxious to do it right that once it was complete and got the Prime’s approval, the former Wrecker passed out on the spot. 

“Primes don’t party, but apparently they do care a great deal about books.” Feeling for a container she brought with her, Arcee wordlessly pulled out a sized down datapad she’d asked Optimus for. Jack always expressed an interest in Cybertron’s stories when he wasn’t otherwise occupied with his two fellow troublemakers. She ran her digits over the surface of the device before placing it beside her ward without looking over at him. 

A gift given far too late to be enjoyed…

“Optimus died on Cybertron. I never told you because at the time… I didn’t want you to be upset. He only returned to us recently, and he’s settling into his former role as an Archivist.” Jack and the others were not exactly close with Optimus, but he was always a giant, even to Arcee and the team. He was unshakable, an infallible titan. His death to restore their world was one of the harshest reality checks Arcee had received in vorns. She never told her ward of Optimus’s passing simply because she wanted to ensure that Jack, Miko, and Rafael still had that wonder of their younger years.

Humans aged quickly. A vorn was enough for a human to live out their entire lifespan. If not telling them about Optimus’s death allowed them to keep that magical aspect of the Prime’s memory alive, then Arcee was willing to do just that. But of course, now he was back, and Jack had not had the chance to meet his childhood guardian again. 

“Wheeljack has been doing Primus knows what off in space. Sometimes he brings in refugees, other times he vanishes for stellar cycles at a time. But he always comes back alive, so you can reassure Miko with that knowledge.” Arcee still did not look at her ward. She did not expect an answer from him. The silence served well enough as the world continued to come alive in response to the sun rising ever higher. 

“Ultra Magnus has kept himself occupied trying to get the government in order now that he’s no longer blacklisted. I forgot to mention it, but for a while our government went to slag. Hundreds of Autobots were exiled for supporting Optimus during the war.” No reaction met her words, as was expected. Cybertron always seemed to have a new civil issue to deal with. First was the caste system, then the high council. Of course the war came next, and then just as they finished their mass slaughter of their own people, the new government decided it needed more power.

A fragging mess. Thankfully, it was one that was being dealt with.

“It’s fine now though. Ratchet has stepped up with other war veterans from both factions to set things right. He hates his job and calls the old team regularly to be a glitch about it. Optimus helps sometimes, but it's largely Ratchet and the new council who run things.” Arcee could almost see the confusion written on Jack’s face at the prospect of Ratchet of all mecha being the one to run a government. The doctor never was the most pleasant during the war, but since its end, he had mellowed a degree. But of course for Jack, it likely seemed preposterous. 

“Surprising isn’t it? I never expected it out of him either. But Ratchet was a Senator in name before the war. He didn’t do a lot since it was honorary, but he knows how politics and governance is supposed to work, at least in theory.” Arcee smiled again as she shuttered her optics, feeling the cool air of the morning turn into something warmer as it brushed past her face. Like this, she could almost imagine things as they used to be.

“I know you and Smokescreen got along well, so I think you would be happy to know that the rookie is doing just fine. He’s signed on with the Enforcers until the Elite Guard can be reestablished.” She recalled how much fun Jack and Smokescreen had even while war raged. It was such petty enjoyment. Trashing the car of a bully and goofing off… despite that, Arcee had not seen Jack laugh so gleefully until the rookie came in. For that, she could be somewhat grateful for the trouble Smokescreen brought with him and continued to create wherever he went. 

“Knockout is working in a clinic in Praxus, Soundwave is currently in rehabilitation on Optimus’s orders, Starscream is dealing with the same. We don’t know where Megatron is, but he’s staying quiet. The other Con’s seem to have largely calmed down enough to rejoin us on Cybertron.” Her voice rang out on the hillside as she reached into her container again and pulled out a photograph she’d had printed and framed. It was of the whole team smiling during the anniversary of Cybertron’s restoration. They were all there… except for Jack. 

“Arcee, the others are waiting for you.” The sounds of wheelchair wheels rolling over the ground reached Arcee’s audio receptors. Nodding once she gathered up her now empty container in her arms and moved to stand. Rafael smiled up at her as she did so. His wrinkled face still left Arcee doing a double take even now. He did not match the memory of the young boy she knew but a vorn ago.

“I know… I just wanted to catch up with him.” Sorrow sat heavy in her spark as Arcee at last turned to look at her ward. A soft song escaped her vocalizer as she got down as low as she could to gently press the crest of her helm to the marble surface of Jack’s tombstone. There was no warmth in what remained of her ward, but as she pulled away and carefully arranged the datapad and picture at the foot of his grave, she felt a degree of peace.

She had not been there for Jack as much as she should have been, but she could hold his memory in her spark. So long as she lived, Jack Darby would not be lost to the tests of time. She would ensure it. 

“Farewell little hero. May you be at peace wherever your soul is destined to go.” Arcee allowed her touch to linger on the top of the tombstone a moment longer before she gathered herself and turned away back toward the base. Rafael rolled along beside her and together they moved in silence. 

They would remember, and when Rafael joined Jack and Miko in their rest, Arcee would carry his memory with her as well. 

They would not be forgotten.

[wangxianficrecs]

Young Madam Jin by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

Young Madam Jin

by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

G, 5k, Wangxian

Summary: “Jiejie, I thought he had killed you!” “A-Cheng, what do you mean? A-Xian didn’t hurt me. I was protecting him. It was not his fault. It was my choice” A stupid ridiculous choice. She knows now just how she had been used. Kay's comments: This story was a super cool read and I loved this portrayal of Jiang Yanli! I loved to see her live (longer) and I really loved the time travel, though it caught me completely off-guard because I didn't read the tags before :D I think Yanli should be allowed to go apeshit more often actually. Excerpt: “They were Wen-” “They were the ones A-Xian owed his and your life to. And A-Xian’s A-Yuan, was he not a child? When we went to Yiling, did he not tell us stories? Does killing war orphans and refuges make us better than the Wen. Do you feel better now A-Cheng?” Jiang Cheng does not say anything, I can see he wants to yell and scream at me, but this at least he can't bring himself to do. Maybe it is because I have not raised my voice, or maybe it is that I look a little too much like mother. “Was it Jealousy again A-Cheng? Did you let others guide you to hate him, like mother did?”

pov jiang yanli, canon divergence, temporary character death, jiang yanli lives, time travel, time travel fix-it, bamf jiang yanli, jiang yanli/jin zixuan, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, jiang family dynamics, cloud recesses study arc, cold springs cave, marriage proposal, shameless lan wangji

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[giraffesmoothie]

marjorie; Taylor Swift // the Song of Achilles; Madeline Miller // the Last of Us Part 2 // evermore; Taylor Swift // Fleabag // Self Control; Frank Ocean // Shannon Berry // “After My Brother’s Death, I reflect on the Illiad”; Eliza Gonzalez

[icaruspendragon]

i’ve stopped saying “i’m sorry” when a grieving person tells me about their loss.

by the time night fell on the day my brother died, the words “i’m sorry” didn’t even look like words anymore. and they sure as hell didn’t mean anything to me. and i knew people were saying those words because they didn’t know what else to say, because there isn’t really anything to say.

but you know what stuck with me the most out of all the expressed condolences?

i remember the hands placed over hearts, heads nodding while i spoke.

i remember the first time i was told “i’m holding space for you” instead of “i’m so sorry.”

i remember the people who asked if they could light candles. the people who asked if they could pray. the people who sat in my grief with me. the people who didn’t try and make it better.

i remember the people who said “there’s nothing i can say and there’s nothing i can do, but my shoulder is ready for your head should you choose to rest it.” i remember the people who said “this sucks and there’s nothing i can do and there’s nothing you can do but here’s some soup, i made it with love.” i remember the people who asked “would it help to talk? my ears are ready for silence or screaming or whatever you need.”

i remember the people who wordlessly passed me another tissue.

“i’m sorry” is not a weapon that can kill grief because grief is born from love and you cannot kill what can never die.

“i’m sorry” can’t control the bleeding of a broken heart. but love can.

love can staunch that wound that grief leaves a body. it can’t heal it. not alone. but my god does it help so much more than words alone.

[bebs-art-gallery]

How Animals Mourn

Anguish by August Friedrich Schenk † The Dead Miner (Mourning the Master) by Charles Christian Nahl † The Faithful Hound by sir Edwin Henry Landseer RA † The Orphan. A Memory of Auvergne by August Friedrich Schenk

[darkpoetrynprose]

“There is an ocean of silence between us… and I am drowning in it.”

― Ranata Suzuki

[deancaspinefest]

If Only You Return to Me

Author: arlingtonchamberofgay | Artist: sidewinder

Posting on Tuesday April 9

The world has been saved, yet again, but this time, Dean is forced to carry on without his best friend. His best friend, who loved him. In true Winchester fashion, Dean decides to shove down and bury his feelings about the last words that Cas said to him and the implications thereof, instead burying himself in alcohol, hunting, and stupid ass decisions. After a failed rescue attempt in the Empty, he’s forced to reassess what his life looks like without the angel. Until, one day, a run of the mill hunt goes wrong because of a small bit of rebar. Castiel somehow awakens in the Empty, much to the Shadow’s ever growing annoyance. After making a deal to return to Earth to find Dean in exchange for his grace, Cas finds himself in the same room he last saw the man. He’s devastated to discover that he’s too late, Dean is dead and in Heaven. Dean and Cas are desperate to find their way back to each other, but the universe seems to be working hard to keep them apart.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“Hey, I found a case close by, down in Corinth; it’s only a 35 minute drive. What do you say we go check it out?” Sam jumps at Dean’s question, considering they’ve been quietly sitting at the War Room table at their laptops for well over three hours now. Sam sips on a beer while Dean downs his 4th glass of whiskey. When Dean asks Sam about heading out on the case, his words aren’t necessarily slurred but they’re not fully coherent either.

Sam looks at his brother hesitantly. “Don’t you think you should sober up a bit?”

“‘M fine, besides not my first time drinkin a little on a hunt.”

“Have you eaten anything today? Or yesterday? Or the day before, for that matter?”

“Psh, yeah, I had a slice of pizza last night.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else?” Sam looks at him expectantly.

“That’s it. That’s all I need.” To emphasize his point, Dean begins pouring himself another glass.

“Dude, besides the fact that it’s noon and you’re about to be on your fifth glass of whiskey, you haven’t eaten an actual meal in days! You look like a goddamn ghost dude.

“Look, I know that something happened before Cas was taken-”

“Don’t you /dare/ say his name.” Dean bites out, his glare piercing into Sam. /Yeah, this is bad./ Sam thinks to himself.

Sam stares at him inquisitively, trying to carefully decide his next words. “Look, whatever happened … you can’t keep beating yourself up over it, okay? Mourning him is perfectly normal, but-” He motions to the bottle and glass in Dean’s hands, “drinking ‘til you’re blind isn’t the way to deal with it. And going on a hunt drunk is just a death wish.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’ve got one,” Dean mutters to himself, but Sam hears it nonetheless. The younger Winchester sighs, gets up from the table, and heads to his room to get his bag ready for the case.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Tuesday April 9)

[joselandsallee]

I’ll find you again my love. 💔

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

caretaker is mourning whumpee after their death

a friend offers them a box of tissues for their crying, but caretaker politely declines because they want to feel the tears on their face, so that they know how much whumpee is still loved, even after their death, and how whumpee’s not really gone as long as caretaker still feels these tears they cry for them

[letterstomonkey]

Grief is a leaky faucet and a forged signature; The pipes froze over and you forgot to Call your mom back, and that was three days ago. Grief is addictive, Residual and graceless; I grieve in place of a Painted-by-hand Ceramic, potted plant. Grief is visceral itching A scabbing tattoo Sunday at 6pm Tumbleweeds in the pantry and my bedroom is sick of me; Grief is opening the blinds for the first time at 6pm Because it is better to start the day Dripping faucet and all, when the alternative is keeled over in a parking lot. Grief is a feeling, or a meaning a meal, a money order, a missing sock or a tearful walk- But I can grieve you in rooms I haven't stepped in yet, But I can grieve you in brush strokes on a blank page, But I can grieve you in how I cough up smoke. Grief is regret. Grieving you, like gawking at a full moon only to discover it was yesterday, so now what will you find in the sky to celebrate? Grief is the last time we looked at the moon at the same time, never knowing it, Grief is a leaky faucet.