Mourning - Tumblr Posts
Jewels of Truth Statements & Favorite Quotes of the Month
Hello All, Now that the Winter Solstice is nearing with the subsequent holiday of Halloween here in the Western Hemisphere of the world. Many will take in stride the string of other celebratory holidays based on observances and other religious events in these last 3 months of the calendar year. This is a time of family and of friends each as well regarded and often adored. To appreciate your life no matter that it isn't perfect, but is it good enough? If so gratitude to those that support you in life and to God is in order even if it is just spoken in a silent anonymous prayer of praise. Today's entry of the trio of the "Jewels of Truth" spiritual wisdom statements will be on the topics of confidence, lovers, and mourning a loved one. In the long hand series of #1,128-1,130. These statements were written over 5 years ago and with a little sprucing I'm sharing them here for the first time ever as original works. Eventually to make an appearance in a future published volume of the "Jewels of Truth" series. All of which are clairvoyantly channeled in automatic writing with the Angels as an inclusive compassionate spiritual wisdom mindset. May you find these topics of interest and refreshing on your own walk of life out upon the world. Amen. Confidence: 1128) In order to guarantee yourself a peaceful mind where all others will panic and be hectic around you. You should be like the “Eye of the Hurricane” centered with a sense of purpose and inner fortitude. So be strong and not act with a weak sense of self-control. For to arrive at a place of magnificent repose one must surrender all hindrances. Be gentle through compassion but firm with a sense of purpose. The path of an inner fortitude is never easy but it is worthy of you. Do not concern yourself with trivial matters for they are mere distractions. Focus only on what is true and of importance for the rest must be allowed to resolve itself in due time. By seeking certainty in order to replace doubts just be calm and do not give attention to fear based thinking and feeling. Always count your blessings as a valid tactic to reassure for such an act has the power to heal and impress upon you the good all around! Most of all stand your ground with a firm conviction and again become the “Eye of the Hurricane” so the calmness within the storm of life is subsided each time. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo. Lovers:
1129) To be well in life look for the blessings all around you and thus so the many blessings will look for you in return. For the lover within seeks to love freely without reservations. Only the dastardly fool will reserve their love for no reason at all, but to stay safe from rejections based upon fear. If you truly love someone else by loving in moderation until you are ready enough to confess your love to them. To be the lover is to be astutely wise in order to gauge if your desire for your beloved is returned back to you. To love without attachment is the hardest thing ever in life. For sometimes a love must be sincerely surrendered to see if destiny agrees that your beloved is truly meant to be with you and not another. Acceptance of such an emotional truth leads to a greatness of spirit within, for so many become possessive of people and things draining them of their beautiful grace. No one is meant to be owned not even property can be owned forever it shall change hands many times in life.
You may be enthralled with lust and infatuation but that isn’t a lasting love. That is more your human biochemistry at work and when taken to an unhealthy extreme it is an ugly vice of the flesh. To love like God and the angels is to love responsibly and unconditionally without favoritism towards none. To love in moderation is a godsend in the world versus those obsessed by love as zealots always causing great harm to themselves and their beloved partner.
Be calm with patience and understanding which shall yield much wisdom that is gained from the misery of others and perhaps your own. Allow your hearts and minds to rise above petty bickering for only hateful fools reopen old wounds based out of selfish fears as insecurities. Fools can easily fall into and out of so called love by their fickle vanity alone. A true noble love stands the test of time knowing when to yield towards compassion and when to stand firm like the rock of Gibraltar. All pure love is unconditional in scope, very hard to practice when challenged but when offered it heals the giver and the receiver instantly. Know the difference between true love and shallow vain love and you will see the Face of God in your combined lives unfolded before thee forever more. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo. Mourning:
1130) When the death of a loved one passes from the realm we call mortal life. They are set free from the tribulations of the living here on Earth. This does not mean that we should stop loving them in life by forsaking their dignity by making immoral choices of how we should live after their passing. Your loved ones that cross over shall continue their relationship to you as the years go by. Such a love is constant like the omnipresence of God which is beyond time and the distance of space.
Be truly loving to yourselves by mourning in grace. Do not fret for the dead be more so concerned only for the dying be it in spirit or with the body. For a broken spirit is useless to everyone involved. Give yourself permission to grieve fully, but not to the point of total destructive misery. The living must be responsible for both the living and the dead in life here in the world. Otherwise, chaos will ensue to no end in sight when loved ones unravel in personal depressing grief and anger. Love truly and live with a sense of awe in your life long calling followed by a joyful gratitude. For your loved ones are in paradise and so should you be here on Earth if you live by the compassionate inclusive Will of God for us all. Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo. A sacred illness is one that educates us and alters us from the inside out, provides experiences and therefore knowledge that we could not possibly achieve in any other way. ~Deena Metzger.
There will always be suffering. But we must not suffer over the suffering.
~Alan Watts.
Where there is great love there are always miracles. ~Willa Cather.
Kindness and compassion toward all living things is the mark of a civilized society. ~Cesar Chavez.
Honor the tradition but expand the understanding. That's what religions must do right now if they hope to be helpful to humans in the years ahead. ~Neale Donald Walsch.
Angels come in many forms. If you are waiting for the white-winged, fluffy, newly laundered ones, you might miss the kick-ass muddy Angels who literally move things along in useful ways. ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
Be a lamp or a lifeboat or a ladder. Help someone's soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd. ~Jalaluddin Rumi.
As you go, proclaim the good news, "The Kingdom of Heaven has come near." ~Matthew 10:7
Ivan "Atrayo" Pozo-Illas, has devoted 21 years of his life to the pursuit of clairvoyant automatic writing channeling the Angelic host. Ivan is the author of the spiritual wisdom series of "Jewels of Truth" consisting of 3 volumes published to date. He also channels conceptual designs that are multi-faceted for the next society to come that are solutions based as a form of dharmic service. Numerous examples of his work are available at "Atrayo's Oracle" blog site of 11 years plus online. Your welcome to visit his website "Jewelsoftruth.us" for further information or to contact Atrayo directly.
There will come the time, that I won't remember the names of my first and truest friends and truly- I believe that that is the day, that you lose the part of yourself that still wants to believe in Peter Pan.
"In the future..."
“… … … … … … … …what future?”
A companion piece to this
Just some concept art for a fanfic I’m working on. It’s hard to color burns with pencils…
Heh… You know how in Birthright, Corrin watches Gunther- the man who raised them, the man who devoted himself to making their life as un-shitty as possible- die in a traumatic way, and gets really angry for about all of five seconds and then just forgets about it? You know how they don’t waste one second mourning, or mentioning it to someone else who might care (like Jakob, the other person Gunther raised), or even remembering him at all until the very end of the game where they’re like, “oh yeah, and that asshole Hans killed what’s-his-face, too! Fuck that asshole!” but then immediately forgets him again?
Yeah. Fuck that asshole.
#blacklivesmatter #blacklivesmatter✊🏾#blacklivesmatter✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿 #blacklivesmatters #blacklivesmattertoo #ifeelforyou #ifeelforyoubro #protest #protests #protesters #protestsigns #protesting #iwillmournwithyou #mourning #mourninginamerica #cops #copssuck #copshooting #policebrutality #police #policeshooting #equality #equal #equalrights #equalityforall #equalitymatters #trump #trumpsupporters #downwithtrump #fucktrump https://www.instagram.com/p/CA-TxBaJra7/?igshid=o4cj50gqw0jw
Grandpa died an hour ago.
I’m not sure how I feel. Hearing my father cry over the phone before he abruptly hung up puts the whole situation in a more acutely verifiable light than did my mother breaking the news, which simply put me in shock. And shock, though immediately jolting, is actually quite a numbing sensation once it settles.
In a patriarchal society such as China, the death of a father’s father is a deeply transformative ordeal. The family unit is central to Chinese culture, philosophy and political science. Everyone is now looking to my father, the youngest of his siblings but the only brother to his three sisters, to lead the family into mourning.
My father is grieving in a way that I can’t understand because since I left China at three years old, I had only a cross-continental relationship with my grandparents. To me, my grandfather was an obstinate man. That’s what I know him for primarily. He survived nearly 10 years on dialysis when younger victims of acute kidney failure maxed out at eight on average. After he was hospitalized a week ago after partying too hard at my cousin’s wedding banquet, he repeatedly tried to escape.
But then what made my grandfather human to me was a story my mother once told me about him when all I personally knew of the man was his short temper and his illness.
When my grandfather was young and his mother passed away, he had been presented with the challenge of finding a place to bury her. Back then, Chinese families were buried in clan plots. My great-grandmother was either a divorced, illegitimate or second wife to my great-grandfather, but in any case she was not an actual member of the Du clan. She could not be buried in the Du plots nor her maiden family’s plots because she had technically married. Thus, my grandfather personally begged each household of his father’s family to allow him to bury his mother on their land, carrying her ashes from door to door.
No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father cry, but what unsettles me more than that are my dry eyes. I don’t want to over-analyze my feelings toward my grandfather. There are lots of things I don’t understand about him, such as his feelings toward his American granddaughter for one.
Respect is all my family asks. This is where the etiquette of mourning comes into play. Ritual covers for awkward, ambiguous feelings.
Rest in Peace Grandma
My grandma sadly passed away last night in her sleep. I had so many fun memories with her and now she is gone. Me and my family are going to miss her dearly and I pray she is with her husband in heaven. Rest in Peace Nana💔😇😭
This is a drabble based off of Mackenzie Hunt's route and how I think she would mourn the loss of her mate.
A Wolf Hunts In A Pack
Running in a pack is one of the best feelings Mackenzie has ever felt. Until she felt the pull of another woman her mate Katrina Wolfson who had loved her till the day she died. then the bond was lost the pack she has is now incomplete without that anchoring support Katrina gave her. Her scent lingered on her clothes and pillow. She would walk to the cemetery every day at the same time, and howl hoping for a response from her lost mate.
my father said to me once that one of the things he deeply regretted was not putting music on for his father while he was fading away. he told me that grandpa would just sit in his old armchair in the quiet, and not until after he’d passed did my dad think of how he could have played of his favorite classical music tapes for him so grandpa could listen to something while he still could. i was very young when this happened and not much older when my dad told me this, but it always stuck with me as something important.
my mother died at home in a hospice cot, slowly shutting down over the course of about a week. when she had stopped responding, i remembered what dad told me about wishing he’d played music for grandpa, and i put the radio on her favorite country music station and kept it on for her until she died.
daddy died in hospital. no cassette players, no decent radios. the day after he was brought in, i thought again of what he told me, and i bought a little portable bluetooth speaker. even though he never woke up, was never aware, i played music for him too.
there’s no real significance to sharing this, not really. my motivation is selfish, again: i just want to hope that someone might think of this when their loved one is stuck in silence somehow, and maybe they’ll play music for them, and they won’t have to regret not doing so. i want to hope it helps someone. and i want to hope that someone will remember my dad with me, even in just a “story i read on the internet” way.
Graveside
I am defective in grieving. There is too much analytical practical elemental selfcenteredness in me I suppose.
I stood by her casket looking down at a husk dressed in white, face puffy and distorted from the chemo. The girls whispered how shameful it was her makeup had not been done (her eyebrows had always been on point) while all I could think of was the long curved needle they use to sew the jaw to the palate, it prevents the mouth from falling open you see, and all around was the scent of death, no amount of flowers and candles could cover.
This evening a friend texted me "everything is going to be ok".
Yes, everything is going to be ok, but life is goddamned unfair sometimes.
today has been hard. this year has been hard.
grief is a curious thing. it isn’t linear, it’s not a crescendo that lessens on a scale. grief is an ocean, and it comes waves, just like the ocean’s seasons. some days it’s still, and others it swallows you and drags you out to sea, only to leave you gasping when you find shore.
today is the one year anniversary of losing my best friend. and I still don’t know how to cope. some days I find myself screaming in my car, other days I smile knowing he’s kicking it with jesus.
thank God for the time we had together, the love we shared, the stupid memories we made, the trouble we got into, and that when you wrote “C Ya, Kiddo” on my shirt in 2008, I wear it and feel better, holding onto the knowledge that I will indeed see you again. can’t wait
what happens when you go
you love them so you will leave them with no traces to clean up
frames off the walls, not a nail puncture to be seen
the paints are given to friends.
the half empty tube of your favorite color won't get used.
instead, it's on the nightstand
they love you so they'll pore over your footprints
in dreams, you are drowning and they come along with a life jacket.
every memory is examined for clues.
your devout friend bellows at her precious god.
"tell me what i could have done. let me save them. why couldn't i? why didn't you? fuck, if only i was all-powerful."
the rosary is pulled into pieces from the strength of her grip.
at the wake, loved ones chorus together that they didn't know the pain was that bad.
whispers of how ill you really were carry around the room.
from beyond this world, memory drags you back.
in another universe, in another life, in another family
you're still here.
they knew how to love you right.
you got the help, you found the community.
the world kept spinning...and it was better because you were in it.
loved ones will try to let go and leave flowers in your favorite places
flowers so brightly colored they outline a trail.
here's the way back home, we still love you.
you can never come back
but every memory will cause your friends to wonder how they could have kept you painting, how they didn't notice the details enough.
it's all framed in guilt.
a crooked picture you can't correct.
stay.
stay for the galleries, the beaches, a breeze through your hair when the sky is tinted evening blue.
keep the possibilities.
Mary’s Boy
credits to the rightful owner: AltheaDavis @writerandweeper on TikTok
Modern au: When the Storm Breaks
Pairings: Jacaerys Targaryen/Cregan Stark, Rhaenyra Targaryen/Harwin Strong, Rhaenys Targaryen/Corlys Velaryon
Cregan and Jace have been married for a couple years when tragedy strikes. Jace's brother, Luke, is killed in a car accident. From the moment they got the news, Jace barely cries. He buries himself into being strong for his family and planning Luke's funeral. Cregan stays by his side the whole time, trying his best to help. Everyone is worried Jace is carrying too much on his shoulders and that he's going to explode soon. Their fears become reality when Jace has a full-blown mental breakdown at the funeral. Jace's family and his husband rally around him. Afterwards he apologizes for making a scene. Everyone tells him that he has every right to upset and that he doesn't have to be strong all the time.
(cw: character death, graphic language, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms)
Notes: This takes place in modern day New York. Rhaenyra and Harwin are married. Aegon III and Viserys II are Harwin's sons, but they get their looks from Rhaenyra. All the age gaps are closed in this story. Cregan and Jace are the same age, Rhaenyra and Harwin are only like 3 or 4 years apart. Laena is Rhaenyra's best friend here not Alicent, because I didn't want to touch that situation. Helaena is the only green that makes an appearance because I love her. Laenor and Daemon also aren't mentioned in this story. Do with that what you will.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jacaerys Targaryen and Cregan Stark had built a life together that was rooted in love, trust, and mutual support. They met in college, when Jace was getting his MBA and Cregan was getting a bachelor’s degree in architecture. Until then, neither of them had believed in love at first sight, but in that moment, love was the only thing that came to mind. They dated all throughout college, receiving their respective degrees with honors. Jace’s parents, Rhaenyra and Harwin, threw a grand graduation party at their home. However, Jace was the only one unaware that this party was also an engagement party. Once everyone important to them had arrived, Cregan got down on one knee and asked Jace to make him the happiest man in the world. Jace accepted with tears in his eyes. Their wedding was a sight to behold, a perfect blend of extravagance and sentiment. They vowed to be there for each other for every moment of their lives, no matter how painful. After four years of marriage, they had faced their share of challenges, but none had been as shattering as the phone call that came one quiet evening.
Jace was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while Cregan relaxed on the couch, engrossed in a book. The shrill ring of Jace's phone broke the silence. It was from Baela, Jace's favorite cousin. Jace and Baela were very close, but they hadn’t spoken in a while, feeling they didn’t have much to share with each other. When she called out of nowhere, Jace thought she had something exciting to tell him.
“Hey Baela, how are you?” He answered cheerfully.
“Hi Jace.” Baela said, her voice shaking, barely above whisper.
“Is everything okay?” There was silence on the other end.
Cregan could sense the tension and looked from his book. “Who’s that baby?”
Jace moved the food off the stove and walked over. “It’s Baela,” he whispered.
“Is that Cregan?” She asked in an abrupt manner.
“Yeah.” Jace said.
“Can you put the phone on speaker, you both need to hear this.”
Jace did as he was asked, placing his phone on the coffee table, “Okay, Baela what going on, you’re kind of scaring me now.”
Baela took a deep breath before continuing, "Jace, it's about Luke.”
“What about Luke?” Jace asked, fear washing over him.
They could hear Baela start to cry on the other end, “There…There’s been….. an accident. I’m so sorry Jace. He's... he's gone."
Jace’s breath hitched. He and his husband sat there frozen, Baela’s soft cries coming from below them.
“What? What happened?” Jace questioned. The room seemed to close in around them as the reality of the situation sunk in.
“He… he was driving home for a visit when .... a truck sideswiped him. He hit a wall and…. first responders couldn’t get to him in time.”
Jace could hear Baela talking to them. He could feel his husband grab his hand. But all of that seemed to fade away with the thoughts whirling through his mind.
"I'm so sorry, Jace," Cregan whispered, his heart aching for his husband.
Jace sat frozen once again, his eyes were unfocused. He didn't cry, didn't scream. He just nodded and took a deep breath.
"What about my parents? Do they know yet?"
“We’re at their house right now. My mom was with yours when she got the call. They didn’t know how to tell you so I offered to do it. They’re…. heartbroken, but we’re here to help them.”
“Thank you.” Jace muttered.
“That goes for you too, if you need anything, please come to us Jace.”
“Okay. Goodbye Baela.”
“Bye.”
Crega pulled Jace into a tight hold. “I’m so sorry baby.” He offered. But Jace shifted in his arms, pulling back. He looked as if he were in some sort of trance.
“I need to get home.” He announced. “My family needs me.”
The days that followed were a blur of grief and responsibility. From the moment they got the news, Jace seemed to switch into autopilot. He threw himself into planning Luke's funeral, his focus solely on being the pillar of strength his family needed. He promised his parents that they didn’t have to worry about anything while he was there. He coordinated with funeral directors, arranged flowers, and meticulously chose every detail, ensuring that his brother would be honored in the best way possible.
Cregan watched his husband with growing concern. Jace was handling everything with a stoic determination that bordered on obsessiveness. He knew Jace was hurting, but he seemed unwilling or unable to express his grief. Every time Cregan tried to talk to him about it, Jace would deflect, insisting that there was too much to do.
"Jace, honey, you need to slow down and let yourself grieve, let yourself feel something," Cregan urged one evening, gently touching his arm. "It's okay to cry, to be upset."
Jace shook his head, his expression resolute. "I don't have time for that, Cregan. My family needs me." That phrase had become Jace’s mantra over the last week. At night, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, while Cregan held him, hoping that the physical closeness would provide some sort of comfort.
Jace's family was just as worried. At first, Rhaenyra was eternally grateful for her son's strength at this terrible time. But she quickly realized what was happening to her son, her whole body flooded with guilt. She and Harwin both expressed their concerns to Cregan privately. "He's carrying too much," Rhaenyra said one evening, her voice thick with worry. "I'm afraid he's going to break."
The day of the funeral arrived, a gray, overcast morning that seemed to mirror the heavy hearts of all who gathered. Jace was impeccably dressed in a black suit, his expression set in a mask of calm control. Cregan stood by his side, offering silent support.
The service was beautiful and heart-wrenching. Friends and family spoke of Luke's kindness, his bright smile, and the joy he brought to their lives. Jace delivered the eulogy with a steady voice, recounting fond memories and expressing the depth of his love for his younger brother. When he finished, sobs and sniffles could be heard throughout the whole church, but Jace’s face still didn’t falter.
As the service drew to a close, Jace stood by the casket, greeting mourners and accepting their condolences. He was the picture of strength and composure, but Cregan could see the cracks beneath the surface. Each handshake, each hug seemed to chip away at the veneer of control Jace had built around himself.
When everyone proceeded to the burial site, Luke's body was placed over the area where it would be buried and lay forever. As the priest gave final blessing, Jace’s frame stiffened, his breaths shallowed slightly. Cregan was at his side, sensing the shift. He grabbed his husband's hand and started rubbing small circles on his back. He had seen this coming from the beginning. He only hoped now that he could soften the blow, if only a little bit.
It was during the final moments of the burial, as the casket was lowered into the ground, that the storm finally broke. Jace stared at the graveside, the finality of it all crashing down on him. His breathing quickened even more, and he felt a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.
“No.” Jace shook his head, pleading with every higher power he could think of. “Please, no!” he whimpered, not caring about what people thought about him. The pressure inside him had built up to an unbearable level. "I can't... I can't do this," he gasped, his voice breaking. "He's gone, Cregan! No....please! He can’t be gone!"
The tears finally came then, a torrent of grief and anguish that he had held back for far too long. He lurched forward, falling to the ground, sobs wracking his body. Cregan knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around Jace, holding him as he wailed.
The mourners looked on with a mix of sympathy and understanding. Rhaenys and Corlys took it upon themselves to start herding the funeral guests toward the reception, knowing the best thing for the family was to be alone with each other right now. Rhaenyra and Harwin rushed to Jace's side, their own tears falling freely as they tried to comfort their son. For the first time since the accident, Jace allowed himself to truly feel the depth of his loss. Jace clung to Cregan, his cries growing softer, his screams turning into broken whispers, “Come back…. Luke I’m sorry…. Please come back.”
The four of them sat like that for a while. Everyone else had gone, Laena had taken Jace’s other brothers to the reception, giving them time to just worry about Jace. Thirty minutes felt like a lifetime. Jace felt like he had cried away all the tears he had left, a terrible headache was brewing in the back of his skull. He picked up his head and looked around, realizing they were alone. “We should go to the reception now. They’re probably waiting for us.” He groaned, rubbing his burning eyes.
Rhaenyra cupped her son's face gently, "Jace, you don't have to go. Everyone will understand."
Harwin nodded in agreement, "We're all hurting, son. And you’ve already done so much. If you just want to go home, it’s alright.”
Jace looked to his husband for the answer. Cregan looked at him lovingly, saying, “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”
Jace thought for a moment, “I think we should go.” He decided.
“Are you sure?” Cregan asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
The reception was a blur for Jace. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Many people came to him again, offering even more condolences and asking if he was alright. He assured everyone that he was feeling much better now, but the ache in his heart and the pounding in his head were creeping up on him again. He wondered why he even bothered coming. Just then Helaena came up to him with a gentle smile.
“Hi Jace.” She spoke softly
“Hi Helaena.”
She looked at him as if she was trying to speak a language she didn’t know. She quickly gave up on words and held her arms out to him. He took them gratefully. After a full day of words and tears, her silent comfort somehow surpassed it all. Helaena often struggled with words, but in her touch was a power no one else in that room possessed. In that moment, Jace felt all of his pain melt away. For a split second, he felt whole again. He felt the one thing that had been missing since Baela called him that night, hope. They stayed like that for a little while. Jace breathed in her soothing herbal scent, finally feeling a sense of healing take fold.
“Thank you so much Helaena.”
“For what”
“For being exactly what I need right now.”
Helaena smiled kindly and then left. Eventually everyone cleared out, leaving just the family. As they sat on the couch together, Jace struggled to come to terms with his outburst at the funeral. In hindsight, he felt embarrassed and ashamed for breaking down in front of everyone. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't mean to make a scene."
Rhaenyra held him in her arms, her eyes filled with compassion. "Jace, you have nothing to apologize for. You lost your brother, not even a month ago. You have every right to grieve. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I never should have let you take on all that by yourself."
Harwin nodded in agreement. "Neither of us should have, Jace. We're a family, and we should support each other. You don't always have to be strong for everyone."
Cregan held his hand, his voice gentle but firm. "You've been carrying so much, sweetheart. It's time to let others carry some of that weight with you. We're all here for you now." He pressed a feather-light kiss to Jace’s temple.
Jace looked around at his family, seeing the love and support in their eyes. He realized then that he didn't have to bear his grief alone. He didn't have to be the pillar of strength all the time. It was okay to lean on those who loved him. He felt tears come to his eyes again, but this time he let them flow freely. He grabbed on to his mother’s waist and cried slow, soft tears. Rhaenyra did the same until they both fell asleep in that position, their pain and exhaustion finally ceasing for the time being.
Harwin and Cregan shared a knowing look before carefully unraveling the two and picking them up bridal style. Harwin couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the last time he held his wife this way. She had gotten too tipsy at a party and passed out in the car on the ride home. They were so young then, before the children, before their lives had truly begun.
Cregan thought about the last time he held his husband this way. They had just gotten married. Jace was about to open the door to their apartment, when Cregan scooped him up and carried him across the threshold. It was a silly moment filled with laughter and so much love. They were still young, but Cregan knew from the moment they met, that he was going to spend the rest of his time on Earth and then some with the man sleeping in his arms.
They carried their spouses up the stairs and laid them down on their respective beds. With the softest touch they remove as much of their uncomfortable funeral attire as they could before laying down next to them. They knew in the morning the pain would hit all over again, but for now they enjoyed this moment of peace in the eye of the storm.
She returned to Lion's Arch with an unobtrusive guardian at her back. The woman was more lightly armored than Milli had expected, though she wore a broadsword slung across her back with the air of someone who could handle the weapon. Her name was Lydia Carlysle and Valec said he trusted the woman to protect her. And Milli trusted Valec.
Milli wore her leather coat, still darkened with soot and char. The Nemesir butler, Virgil, kept asking if she wanted it cleaned. It smelled of ashes and burning and death. But Milli couldn't let it go. Not yet.
She had passed the post boards before while moving her belongings from her old house, but hadn't dared venture over and look for names. There were too many she hadn't wanted to see. But today it was her purpose.
Lydia followed, a shadow half a step back and to her left, keeping watch on Milli's bad side. Most of the debris had been cleared to the sides, leaving a trail. It wasn't like it had been before, clambering over fallen pieces of stone and wood. Milli was remarkably pleased for that. It meant the city was healing. There was still something that remained of her home.
"Over there, my lady," Lydia motioned toward a hastily erected notice board, candles lit surrounding it, wax puddled thickly around the edges of the platform.
"Thank you, Lydia," she smiled at the woman, accepted the hand to help her up the stairs. She was but a few months along, but she could feel the change in her sense of balance. Milli wasn't looking forward to the later months of pregnancy when she would be able to do little besides waddle between comfortable chairs. Her sister, Tsuu, had warned her.
Milli was confronted with a sea of pleading messages. Men and women looking for sons, daughters, siblings, husbands, and wives. Friends. Family. Some of the names were heartbreakingly familiar. She could only hope they were found.
"Are you a religious woman, Lydia?" Milli asked quietly.
"I worship the Six, my lady, and pay special heed to Dwayna, yes," Lydia replied, eyes watching the area with a constant sweep.
"Can you say a prayer for these people for me?" she ran her gloved fingers over the pages, many warped by wind and water this close to the bay. "I've never sought the aid of the Gods, and it seems to me it would be hypocritical to do so now."
"The gods would hear your prayers regardless, my lady," the guard replied gently, "but I will add them to my prayers tonight as I did right after the city fell."
Milli turned back, carefully climbing back down the steps. "Did you know anyone who died in the assault?"
Lydia shrugged sadly.
"Who didn't?"
I recently lost my grandmother and im wondering if you have any compilations on grief/loss ?
oh anon i'm so sorry for your loss, first and foremost sending you my love and i hope you have people who you can turn to if you need to!
i've only reblogged this compilation about grief as far as i can remember but i don't feel i can sensitively judge what is appropriate at this moment for you personally to comfortably compile more quotes
instead, here are a small selection of poems, i hope they bring you a little light
what the living do - marie howe
taking care - callista buchen
trying to raise the dead - dorianne laux
happiness after grief - kim addonizio
for grief - john o'donohue
& with a little warning that i haven't read it in full and the poems i have read of the collection were very heavy imo but victoria chang's OBIT is a collection centred around grief and loss (e.g. the Blue Dress 'imagination is having to live in a dead person's future)
finally would like to underscore all these w the reminder that there's no way you have to mourn and no predetermined trajectory/deadline either - regardless of what any of these poems or anything/one else says, your feelings are valid always! take all the time you need, please do take care anon! all my love again
No one said anything about Jason's death for a week. Not in passing, not as a caution. It had been bad when they skirted around the topic before, only bringing up what he 'did wrong' when they needed a lesson taught. Now, though, it was like they couldn't look Jason in the eye.
He knew staying in the manor for so long was a bad idea. When the weekend came around, he was up at dawn. He knew Damian would be up this early, so he took a gamble and climbed to the roof.
"Hey, kid."
"Todd."
Neither spoke as the sun rose, lighting the sky first pink, then orange, the yellow, then blue. When the sky was fully covered in the blue of a new day, Jason spoke.
"I remember when I came back to Gotham," His voice was barely louder than a whisper. "I set up in Crime Alley as soon as I could, getting a safe house put together. You wanna know the first thing I did, though?"
Damian didn't ask, but he did raise an eyebrow, looking at his older brother from the corner of his eye.
"The first thing I did was sit on the roof of the clocktower and watch the sunrise."
He knew Jason was a sap at heart, but even this was a bit much in that picture. "Oh? Why?"
"It felt, I guess, like a new beginning? I don't know, really, how to explain outside of that."
"So don't." the child said.
Again, the two lapsed into silence. Again, it was Jason who broke it. "Come on, I've got a surprise for you."
Following his brother off of the roof, Damian asked, "Now? What is it?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it? And, yes, now. I'm kidnapping you for the day."
"This is hardly a proper kidnapping if you're giving me the option."
"Not an option, actually," he smirked, "Let's go tell Alfred so he doesn't skin me when we come back."
"Don't ever go into the kidnapping business, Todd, you'd get caught before you could begin."
Yeah, that was fair. Regardless, a quick relay to Alfred in the kitchen saw the two boys headed to the motorcycle Jason had left in the garage. A one seater, but Damian was small enough to fit on with him. Tossing the boy a helmet with instructions to hold on tight, the two sped off to Gotham Proper.
Under an hour later, because speed laws are suggestions not rules, Jason stopped outside a fairly decent apartment building. Decent by Crime Alley standards, but decent nonetheless.
"Why are we here, Todd?" Damian asked, watching his brother throw a dusty tarp over the bike that he'd hid in a dark corner behind a dumpster.
"I told you," he took the lead up the stairs, "It's a surprise."
Damian did not roll his eyes because that would be uncouth of him. He didn't groan or sigh, either. He did, however, quietly note that he was too old for surprises.
Jason's heart broke a little. Damian isn't even eleven yet. He should be given surprises all the time! This was just another reason why adults couldn't be trusted. They turn children into soldiers instead of letting them be kids.
The top floor of every apartment building in Gotham was empty because of the vigilantes that ran around at night. No one liked to be woken up at two in the morning to footsteps on their roof. So, Jason's apartment sat on the floor just below that in the corner apartment. There was no one directly below him and caution tape covered the door next to him. Ideal for sneaking in and out without nosey neighbors to worry about.
The apartment itself was simply decorated, but lived in. A couch and an armchair sitting in one corner with a coffee table. A broken TV on a stand opposite those with a bookshelf beside it.
The most eye-catching thing in the room, however, was a stool that sat centered on the window between the armchair and the bookshelf. Just enough room on either side for someone to climb through the window without disrupting it.
The stool had a black and white cloth over it, hanging halfway down the legs. On top of that were two candles on either side of an empty picture frame, a vase of carnations, and three cookies.
Rarely was Damian at a loss for words. "What-what is-?"
"From what I understand," Jason explained, not moving from behind and slightly to the left of his youngest brother, "Danyal wasn't laid to rest properly." he risked a glance over, "I don't think you even got to mourn properly. I know you don't want the others to know, and I know it's not much, but-"
"Congratulations, Jason," Damian didn't turn to look at his brother, "You're my new favorite brother." Jason smiled. "Thank you."
If they shared a hug, or if Damian cried, that was no one's business.
In the Danny is Damian’s brother trope what if instead of Damian not telling the family about Danny wasn’t because of grief or shame or any of the more commonly used reasons for his silence. What if it was because he heard about how his father talked about Jason after his death, focusing and exaggerating the negative. That he was violent, angry, never listened to orders but in some iterations and popular fanon is that Jason was a cheerful and studious Robin.
What if while compiling info and researching the former robins during his tumultuous introduction he saw what kind of robin Jason was, good with kids and victims. Talking about his favorite books while on patrol and similar. Reminding Damian of his most Beloved brother.
Then he finds out about how Bruce talked about Jason after he died. Using him as an example as what not to do, erasing his good traits and just using him as a cautionary tale of what happens when you don’t follow orders. Just like what Ra’s said about Danny.
So he didn’t tell the family, not out of guilt or grief. But because his father stripped away Jason’s positive traits after death, the son he chose, adopted and loved. Who when he failed because he was a child led astray by his mother. What would he do to his brother, who loved the stars and excelled in stealth, who was quite in his kills but had no lust for killing.
Whether or not Bruce would do this to Danny’s memory doesn’t matter. B’s actions are gonna affect how Damian views his father even years after the initial actions. Because Damian will protect his brothers memory from being twisted even by their father.