#w: major character death

[phantom-0-writer]

the case of the serial killer

3476 words (that was not suppose to happen lol - please send help)

ao3

Dick sat in front of his desk, eyes glazing over the same two lines for the nth time. He let out a tired sigh, and massaged his temples as he leaned back in his chair. 

The Bludhaven Police Department had been investigating the recent serial killings for the past month and a half, with Dick heading the case. Not that it was anything too out of left feild for Dick, he handled plenty of cases like this during his long run as Robin and even in his more recent years as Nightwing. Finding the clues, and piecing together the perfect picture came second nature to him at this point. 

The issue Dick was dealing with right now in fact had nothing to do with the case, instead it was something -or someone else. That someone, Danny No-Last-Name-For-You-Officer. 

The first time Dick had run into him he was doing his rounds when he caught some kids getting into a fight. Naturally he stopped in and the kids that had been trying to start a fight ran away at the sight of his uniform and car. Danny had been a little roughed up by then, but mostly unharmed. 

“Are you okay, kid?” Dick asked, kneeling to meet the kid eye-to-eye. 

Danny had looked at him with a defiance he wasn’t used to seeing in someone that wasn’t a cape, “I didn’t do anything.” He said instead of responding, pulling himself up to his feet. 

“Okay,” Dick nodded calmly, not wanting to frighten the kid. He stood up slowly, with his hands in view, “Are you hurt? I could patch you up, real quick, make sure nothing gets infected.” Danny wore ratty clothes, they had been nice once upon a time, but their time had long passed. 

Danny eyed him suspiciously, “No, I’m fine.” He said more calmly now. Roughly around the age of 15 to 17. Older than Damian, but younger than Tim.

Taking his chance, “You got a name kid?” 

“Danny.” 

“No last name?” Dick asked with a knowing smirk, letting himself appear more playful. 

“Not for you.” Danny gave him a mischievous smirk. Dick could tell the kid could clean up nice, but circumstances seemed unfortunate. 

Dick laughed at his response, to let him know that he wasn’t in any hot water. Danny watched him, waiting for his next move. “You hungry, Danny?” Dick asked casually, trying not to stare at the way the hoodie he was wearing sagged on his shoulders. 

“I’m a growing boy, I’m always hungry.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Dick laughed again, more genuine this time. 

“Alright, my treat. Let’s go.” Dick said, gesturing as he led the boy to his car. 

“What?” He asked, surprised, Dick turned around to look at him when he didn’t follow. “Why?”

“You’re a growing boy.” Dick echoed. Danny snorted, but followed after him nonetheless. Dick put on the GPS on his phone, even though he knew the way as Danny sat in the passenger seat. 

They spent the next hour together, falling into a steady rhythm of conversation and joking. After their first meeting, Danny and Dick ran into each other more. The grocery store, playground, library, school, so on. For the first 2 weeks it had been coincidental, but slowly Dick found himself looking forward to their random meetings, happy to see that the kid was doing alright. 

That had been until the first murder had happened. 

It had been raining, colder than the weather usually was around this time of year, the streets mostly empty. Dick had been doing his usual rounds on patrol, wondering how Danny was doing like he always did. 

The world has a strange way of giving you what you want. 

As Dick turned around the corner, he slammed his brakes hard at the figure who had been standing in the middle of the road. Dick got out of his car, leaving it on the side of the road when the person didn’t move. As he got closer dread filled Dick’s gutt as he made out the figure to be a cold, drenched Danny clenching his chest. 

“Danny!” Dick called, rushing over to the boy. As Dick got closer he noticed the boy looked pale and his lips were turning blue. 

“Dick.” Danny said hollowly, his voice barely audible over the loud rain. Danny turned to look at him with a shaken and horrified expression. 

Dick held his shoulder firmly, leading him to the car and out of the rain. Danny allowed it without protest, which only caused Dick to worry more. “What happened?” He asked once the boy had huddled himself under the blanket Dick kept in his car (he had gotten it after the second time he met Danny during patrol, the boy always seemed cold). 

Danny turned to him, “He’s dead.” He answered morbidly.

“Who?” Dick asked concerned, he didn’t think the boy had a father or brother present, at least not one that he had mentioned. 

“I dunno. Just some guy.” No one he knew then. 

“Danny, buddy. Can you explain what you saw.” Dick tried again. 

Danny took a shaky breath, “I was just heading home, y’know, from the library. And I heard a scream, so I went to go check it out. And it was a guy just laying there in a pool of blood.” Danny looked down at his own hands, his fingers stained in red. 

“Can you tell me where?” 

“Around the corner, across from Susan’s.” Danny said quietly. He must have been really shaken up seeing it, it wasn’t exactly normal to see a bloodied body during your regularly scheduled activities. 

Dick could go there later as Nightwing to investigate, but right now he had bigger things to deal with. “Alright, put your seatbelt on.” Dick said, putting the car in drive. Danny, not fully there, quietly did as Dick asked. At the next redlight, Dick called the Chief and let her know about the potential murder case and that he would be calling off for the night. He’d probably have to bring Danny in for his testimony, but that was later. 

As the light turned green Dick looked over at his passenger again to find Danny already fast asleep, heater blaring in his face. Dick smiled softly at the sight as he drove them to his apartment. 

After Dick parked his car he hesitated for a moment before deciding to wake Danny up so he could shower and maybe eat something. He could borrow some of Tim’s clothes. 

“Hm.” Danny blinked barely at Dick, “We're are we?” He asked looking around at the parking garage. 

“My place. C’mon lets get you cleaned up.”  Dick unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. 

Danny blinked at him in surprise, “What? Why are we at your place?” 

“Well considering I don’t know where you live, I had to take you somewhere.” Dick shrugged casually, letting the kid think Dick didn’t know he was homeless was better than him thinking Dick was pitying him. Danny would not appreciate pity. 

Danny didn’t retort, a true sign of how weary he was.

Dick made a quick dinner. You can’t go wrong with pasta and air fried chicken. While the food finished cooking Dick busied himself in random mundane activities, not wantong Danny to find him looking over a case when he got out of the shower. Dick pulled out an old cookbook he’d gotten for his highschool graduation, a gag gift from Wally, when something between the pages fell out. 

Picking it up Dick saw an old photo, one of him standing between his parents proudly after one of their performances. Sometimes Dick would feel a deep sadness when he looked at pictures of his parents and realized he had forgotten their faces, their mannerisms and their laughs. But this time, when Dick looked at the picture and saw his dad smiling at the camera next to his mom, he remembered Danny. It was strange how Danny had the same cowlick as his mom, same nose arch as his dad, a jawline that looked like his almost, before his larger muscle definition came into play. At the time that line of thought had been disturbed by Danny walking back into the living room and stubbing his tie on the foot of Dick’s sofa. 

After that Dick had made sure they had each other’s numbers. He called Danny anytime the weather was bad, or it was cold, or there was too much food at his house or whatever random reason he could come up with. 

After about a week of Dick calling Danny over, Danny came over on his own one night. 

Dick was dressed in his Nightwing suit about to head out for the night when he heard the front door rattling. Realizing someone was trying to break into his apartment and knowing that it wasn’t his siblings (they would’ve used the window) Dick quickly threw his domino under his blanket and threw on the first pair of sweats he could find, just in time for the door to open. Slipping a small pocket knife into his hands, Dick positioned himself to get a good view of the living room where the trespasser still was. 

Getting ready to get the jump on the trespasser Dick happened to get a good look at and noticed the familiar mop of black hair, and overfilled school bag by the door. Coming into view, letting his hands relax by his side, “Danny?” he breathed confused and relieved. 

“‘Sup.” He nodded casually before noticing Dick’s appearance. “Your pants are backwards.” He commented candidly. Dick could feel himself flush in embarrassment, but that seemed to send the wrong impression on Danny, The younger boy leaned in to whisper to him, “You got a special friend over?” He raised an intrigued brow at Dick. 

“What?” Dick spluttered “No.” 

“Sad.” Danny shook his head in disappointment, making his way to the dining table and plopped his stuff on a chair and pulled out a few well-used notebooks. “The library closed early today, so I thought why not break into the local cop's place. I got a paper due tomorrow.” He explained half serious, half joking. “You don’t have to worry about me if you were about to head out somewhere.” How had he known? 

“Uh, yeah I was just going-” Think, Dick. “-Get groceries.” Dick internally winced at the suspicious brow Danny gave him. 

“At 10:30 PM?” 

“Yes.” All that Bat training, and for what? 

Danny blinked, “Cool.” he said dismissively, turning back to his homework. 

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth Dick left his apartment stuffing his weapons into an old travel bag he had on hand and changing in the empty elevator. 

When he got home from his patrol (earlier than he normally would’ve) remembering to buy the aforementioned groceries for some semblance of a cover story he found Danny fast asleep over scattered papers on the dining table. Putting away the perishables, Dick picked Danny up (who snuggled into his chest at the contact - yes, Dick was definitely completely okay after that) and laid him on the spare bed he kept on hand for his siblings. 

The next few times Danny snuck into his house (Dick had offered him a key, but Danny had refused) things had gone similarly if not slightly more smoothly until the completely predictable and unavoidable happened. 

Dick was halfway through his usual route as Nightwing, stopping a few muggings, and investigating the serial killer case some more. There were almost 9 different murders at this point with seemingly no similarities between the victims, other than the method of death. After going through the most recent crime scene Dick’s heard his phone go off. It surprised him slightly since he usually keeps it on silent, but he was alone so no harm no foul. 

It was a message from Danny, it was probably a meme or funny video he had found. Dick could use a pick me up after another crime scene bust so he opened it. The message was not what he had been expecting. 

Danno: sos?  Danno: im at ur place

Fearing the worst, Dick dialed his number. Danny hung up before the first ring, which did nothing for his nerves. Rushing in the direction of his apartment, not even bothering to do anything about the costume he was wearing, the worst scenarios rushed through Dick’s mind. 

When his apartment was in view the first thing Dick noticed was the open window that he most certainly had not left open. Quietly slipping onto the fire escape Dick peered through to see the scene. The only light that was still on was the living room light, likely where Danny was, but Dick easily noticed the hulking figure in the kitchen. He was easily too tall, and too muscular to be Danny. The figure moved slightly and the shape of a gun could be seen in his hands. 

Not wasting any time, Dick expertly slipped through the open window and tackled the figure to the floor, arm held at his back and escrima stick at his assailant's neck. 

“What the fuck-” The figure said startled at Dick’s unexpected attack, 

Now with a better view Dick was able to see the familiar red helmet and leather jacket the assailant wore, “Jason?” Dick asked, surprised. 

“I thought we were past this. Y’know let bygones be bygones, or whatever.” Jason joked easily, wiggling his way out Dick’s slacking grip. 

The situation finally unfolded in front of Dick. Danny had been in his apartment and Jason as Red Hood had also come to his apartment. Danny thought someone had broken in, and Jason also thought someone had broken in. Was Jason about to shoot Danny? Where was Danny? 

Quickly getting up, and ignoring Jason’s earlier remark he walked through the kitchen and into the living room, “Danny?” He called, not wanting to scare the kid. 

Jason gave him a confused look, but came to an understanding on his own when the familiar teenager peeped out from behind the couch holding a knife in his hands. His expression only became more shocked after he saw Dick, and it took Dick a second too long to remember that he was still wearing his Nightwing costume. 

“Aw shit.” 

Danny blinked at him, regaining his composure and pointing the knife at Jason, “Friend of yours?” 

After all the explanations had been explained they all sat around the couch, a stack of empty pizza boxes between them. 

“You saw me with a gun and you decided you could take me with a knife?” Jason scoffed at Danny, helmet left forgotten under the table. 

“I could take you without the knife.” Danny rolled his eyes, taking the last slice of pizza. 

“Big talk.” Jason puffed out his chest in some strange show of alpha male behavior. 

“Are you askin’ for a fight?” Danny challenged. 

Fearing the direction the conversation was taking Dick stepped in “Alright, you’re both pretty. Let’s break it up.” 

That had just been last week. 

Two days ago Dick had gotten a call from Danny. Danny usually didn’t call, preferring to text, but would usually answer when Dick called, 

“Hey, Dickface.” Danny greeted snottily. Dick noticed he was out of breath. 

“Hey, Danny. What’s up?” 

“You got the night shift today?” Night Shift was what Danny had taken to calling his vigilant duties. There was a lot of movement on Danny’s end of the phone, but Danny was always moving around so Dick hadn’t thought it was weird. 

“Yup. Whatcha’ up to?” Dick asked curiously, cleaning up his mess from dinner, leaving Danny’s portion in the fridge for later. The fridge was more stocked than it had been since Dick had moved in, he had purposely bought food that Danny would like, and the boy had finally begun filling out his skeleton. 

“Oh y’know, cardio. Getting those steps in.” He let out a winded chuckle, “When you get the chance, check out the warehouse on 12th street later tonight. The one with the cracked pavement outside.” 

“You got a lead?” Dick asked surprised, “From where?” He was suspicious, just curious. 

“A friend of mine told me. Thought you should know.” There was a thud in the background, like something hit metal. 

“You okay?” Dick asked concerned. 

“Yeah, it was a cat.” He said easily, Danny let out a hiss of annoyance, “Gotta go, Later.” He hung up before Dick could say anything else. 

Dick let out a tired sigh. The kid had grown on him like fungus. Though not entirely unappreciated, Dick was not ready to hear his siblings' inevitable comments on how he took after Bruce. Didn’t help that Danny happened to fit the profile. 

The warehouse had given them a few clues, but they still weren’t any closer to finding the serial killer. 

Danny hadn’t come by the apartment after that phone call. Or responded to any of Dick’s texts. 

This morning when he was getting dressed he got a call from the precinct. It was still 30 minutes before his shift. 

“Grayson, this is Officer Gomez, the Chief wants you in as earliest as you can get here,” Officer Gomez spoke urgently. 

“I can be there in 15.” He reported, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his keys. 

“Alright.” Gomez hung up. 

As soon as he got in the doors the Chief was waiting for him by the entrance. “Took your sweet time, huh Grayson.” she chided. 

“Dunno what you mean, Chief. I’m 15 minutes early.” He gave her a charming smile, and the Chief rolled her eyes. 

“There’s been a development in your case.” The Chief started as they walked together, Dick nodded at her in acknowledgement. But the Chief hesitated, before speaking again. That was unlike her. “There was another murder victim found, in the east district. Our night crew got an alert.” 

Most of the victims had been in the west district, based on the location south may have been a more appropriate transition. It could be a coincidence or it meant the killer had a personal vendetta against these people, or maybe just the victim from the east district. It felt like all the pieces Dick had managed to put together were falling apart again. 

“Our latest victim was a male, caucasian potential of mixed descent, age estimated around 15 to 17,” that was younger than the other had been, “black hair, blue eyes, roughly 5’ 5”.” The chief turned to look at him now, “goes to Westwood High School, prefers juice to soft drinks, always feels cold to touch,” 

Dick looked at Chief in confusion, these were incredibly specific descriptions, and they sounded awfully familiar. 

She continued, “He lets his hot chocolate get cold before he drinks it,” Danny had done that once when Dick had brought him in for his testimony. “And he plucks the marshmallows out of it with a fork, and called it a snowman.” 

No.

“You keep extra snacks for him in the glove box of your car even though it’s against protocol,” 

No,

Dick hands were clammy when he pulled out his phone from his pocket. Personal use of devices was strictly against the rules. Chief said nothing. Dick found Danny’s contact easily in his recents tab. He held it up to his ear waiting for the kid on the other side to answer with his usual “What can I do ya’ for officer.” or some iteration of the classic “Hey, Dickface.” 

It went to voicemail. 

Danny always answered his phone, and when he didn’t he would text Dick a reason within the next five minutes. So he waited. 

It had been 10 minutes already. Why wasn’t he responding? 

Dick called him again. Voicemail. 

Nononono. Not again. 

How was it that Dick was always too slow. 

Too slow to save his parents. 

Too slow to get to Jason in time. 

And now too slow to solve this case.  

Dick Grayson was a failure in every way that mattered. 

He looked at the familiar body ready to be put into an ice chamber for further examination in the morgue. 

“Go home for the day, Grayson.” 

Go home and do what? 

Danny’s notes were still sprawled over the coffee table. He said he had a test next week. Danny’s food was still in the fridge. His bed was still a mess, and his clothes were on the floor. 

“Give me the case files. I’ll look over them again.” He didn’t recognize his voice when he spoke, he wasn’t even sure it was his. Chief didn’t argue, handing over the files. 

The day had gone by and Dick was still stuck in front of his double monitor desk, pictures and words blurring together in nonsensical smudges on the screen. 

“Grayson.” Chief called him. Dick looked up, catching a glimpse of the dark night sky from the glass doors. How long had he been here? 

“Yeah?” He responded dryly. 

“Head home.” 

Dick wasn’t sure when he had gotten to the front of his apartment, only realizing he had when the keys jiggled loudly missing the keyhole on the door. 

When he got inside he found Jason sitting casually on the couch, reading a book. “Oh Honey, you’re home.” He joked. 

Dick couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. 

Danny’s papers flew from the wind of the open window. Dick closed it. When he didn’t pick up the papers, Jason bent down to do it. “Anyways, where’s the kid? Didn’t you want me to help him with his homework or someshit. I need to beat it into his head that I’m better at him.” Jason said the last part loudly, letting it echo through the house in case Danny was hiding in its crevices. 

Dick turned to him, Jason looked back at him for a long moment before the mischievous look slipped from his eyes. “Dick, where’s the kid?” 

There was a deafening silence in the apartment. 

“He’s dead.” The table under Jason’s hands let out a loud crunch, as his face darkened. 

Before Jason could breathe an air of the threat of murder that was definitely ready to roll from his tongue, there was a quiet clatter in the kitchen. 

“Who’s dead?” Danny asked, appearing in the living room with a large bowl of cereal he was shoveling into his mouth.

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table of contents

#this was originally suppose to be a biosibling danny and dick but by the time i got to the reveal it felt kinda forced so i dropped it #but its still kinda in there if u like the idea #timeline who? #dick grayson #nightwing #danny fenton #danny and dick #jason is also kinda there #major character death except its danny #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #danny got flashbacks to his parents basement activities when he saw that dead body #but dick thinks hes having normal civilian reaction to seeing dead body #jason and danny wanna duke it out #dick is being responsible #this is exactly the kinda bs i feel like jason would say #argue w the wall #dick got bruce's adoption tendencies #dick: i've only had danny for half a day but if anything happens to him i will kill everyone then myself #danny was just trying to help dick out w his case and what better way then to get the murder to murder u then pull an uni reverse #danny's in the living room lol #get it bc he's dead #bruce: says smt #danny snikering: over my dead body #dick: thats not funny danny #danny: its kinda funny #jason makes those exact jokes: i think its funny #danny instantly: nvm its not funny #steph and cass puppy dog eyes: can we keep 'im pretty please #kind of angst

[ambrosiagourmet]

Marcille didn’t use illegal magic to resurrect Falin bc she just loves Falin that much, she was able to resurrect Falin bc she already knew illegal magic bc she doesn’t respect elf cops.

#she literally majored in illegal magic #what Falin’s death pulled out of her was the willingness to reveal this to the group. imo. #it’s a very similar arc to Laios it’s about vulnerability. she doesn’t corrupt herself she reveals herself #not that it’s nothing that she does this for Falin. esp since a running theme in the early chapters for Marcille is knowledge vs action #she KNOWS how to do a lot of things but she hasn’t taken action on many of them. and she has already started to confront that #by the time they reach the dragon. her character arc doesn’t start there it starts w like. the mandrake #ANYWAY Falin is important I just think that framing it as like ‘look how far she’ll go this is FORBIDDEN’ kind of misses the point #that the elves and gnomes and dwarves have suppressed this knowledge. THEY have failed Marcille. they set her up for failure #don’t by into their lies!!! burying the truth isn’t helping! rah rah!

[juststarsandthemoon]

ao3 my beloved my baby my darling sweet would it kill you to do maintenance when I'm not ON A CLIFFHANGER

#lights on #the chapter is tagged w major character death BUT the story is tagged with angst w happy ending #who do i believe #ao3

[carnation-damnation]

Being immortal, and the cost of learning to love the world

#sonic au rated PG 13 for MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH and BAD TIMES #angst #this is some edgy shit. some edgy 2017 nathan art shit #WOO!!! #this is so sad. play custer by slipknot #sonic au #sketches #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #eggman #metal sonic #the others are in the bg as memories but idk if i should tag them for being..silhouettes #super shadow #blood #alrighty. thats it. questions comments and concerns should be directed to the askbox -> #had a lot of dialogue in my head w some of these but ehhhhhh #timeskip au

[time-is-restored]

btw not to make everything about My Fucking Guy but i honestly think one of the things that seperates q!phil out from the other islanders is the approach he takes to dealing with the lack of agency + control all the islanders have over whatever the fuck the federation's doing.

it shows up most prominently whenever tubbo is excitedly telling him about the 'progress' he's made with cucurucho or various investigations (ie: trapping him into a corner with the 'do you have free will' questions), and phil always shoots it down w an immediate 'that doesn't mean anything. curucuho will say anything to mess with you. you can't take anything he says as true.'

and it's not that phil is... a paticularly pessimistic character? he's just EXTREMELY practical. like, he's yet to give up on anyone EVER finding ANY answers (he was the one who initially gave the federation that one week ultimatum w the cage for a cage stream), he just doesn't trust the idea that curucuho is ever going to voluntarily give them. they're uncontrollable + senseless - you might as well argue with the weather.

and like, if that's how he sees the one (1) and only point of contact the islanders HAD with the federation for months, it explains a lot abt his characters lifestyle! ofc he sits on the wall all day, talking to his kids, and keeping his head down. he believes that the federation wants nothing more than to drag the islanders into sick games + tasks just so they can fuck with their head (ie: curucuho revealing he was the one cellbit gathered all that information for). and while he can't totally PREVENT any of that from ever impacting him, he can make sure his kids are well fed, well protected, and as happy + comfortable as he can manage. this is objectively not a perfect situation, there is a guaranteed amount of suffering + fear that he can't mitigate, but he can at least account for it.

like, he REFUSES to engage. whenever curucho shows up, he treats them with total ambivalence. he's not going to get riled up by anything they do, he's not going to get super attached to the guy, he's just gonna laugh it off and irish goodbye it when things drag on. the ONLY time he's strayed from that general guiding principle has been since he's lost his eggs, and can no longer afford to let the federation's fuckery go: those are his fucking kids.

hence the completely unprecedented levels of outward rage and sadness and terror he shows throughout the birdcage streams - almost all directed directly to cucurucho. it's all a completely fair + proportional response to the horror the islanders are being subjected to, but it feels so different bc until now, q!phil has been so dedicated to not reacting, and not giving the federation any sign that they're actually getting to him.

#qsmp #q!phil #LIKE. does anyone else think this! i genuinely believe its like one of the major #traits of his character i feel like u can trace it through Everything. #the man lives with the constant knowledge that sometimes all it takes is a tempting ravine and a badly timed creeper to end a life #whether that life belongs to a stranger or someone you love more than anything else in the world #you COULD rage against that. you could scream and shout and tear your hair out and grieve for the futility of it all #but what does that change? the days march on. death waits either way #and that's not to say he's a laizesfair kind of guy. anyone who's seen him stress out abt chayanne's risk taking + freak out #whenever his kids don't have enough autofeed grist can see that he cares DEEPLY. which resolves into his very distinctive #defensive + protective playstyle. the goal is not to win the fight the goal is to *survive* the fight etc #but the only way that mindset doesn't spill out into unchecked paranoia + complete agoraphobia is with acceptance #'shit happens: the philza minecraft story' #i also think it even manifests in the nightmare sequence w his last words to chayanne? 'they didn't want us to live. we were never supposed #to survive' or whatever the exact wording was #he is FURIOUS and deeply hurt and sad abt the deaths he says so explicitly later #but at the time the first thing he reaches for is. exhausted acceptance. it wasn't their fault. it wasn't his fault. they did their best. #they could only do so much in the face of the federation's Overwhelming Hostility. y'know? #mine

[solarstarsz]

i have a few fun and happy theories ‼️ (part 2 to my post about sirius not attending james and lily’s funeral)

Remus was definitely the only friend of theirs that went to the funeral, because he was the only one that didn’t die, run away and fake his death, get arrested, or obliviate himself.

So now imagine Remus standing alone in a crowd of witches and wizards from all around that have come to honor Lily and James. Pictures are snapped of the grave, later to be seen in the ‘Daily Prophet’ above a caption stating that You-Know-Who had so easily killed the Potters, yet had trouble with Harry and fell in the action.

Thinking, he should’ve done something. He knows there was no way he could’ve known, but theres this voice that follows him around until the day of his death that repeats; it’s all your fault.

I believe Professor McGonagall was desperately scavenging the world for a substitute, if the funeral was on a school day. (if it were not, she obviously would have gone and thats boring because im an angst hungry monster).

No matter how she much pleaded and begged for someone to take her roll just for a day, there were no volunteers. So she was stuck teaching Transfiguration that day. When she heard anything about them she shut them out, and for an eternity like Remus, the guilt of not being able to say one last goodbye followed her around.

She was able to shut it out and not reveal why the events of October 31st of 1981 meant so much to her.

Until in 1991 she was reviewing the list of incoming first years, and she stumbles across the name Harry J Potter, and her mouth gets dry as she recalls the day of his parents’ demise.

#the marauders era #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #minerva mcgonagall #major character death #brief mentions of #peter pettigrew #sirius black #harry potter #mary macdonald #voldemort #professional yapper #fan theories #1980s #1990s #my bad gang #cutie w a bootie #angst with no happy ending #angst

[lord-squiggletits]

Speaking of Tyrest. A lot of people forget that he treated Pharma with absolute disdain, not only using him as a test subject for a clearly painful mass murder machine, but talking to Pharma like he saw him as nothing but some henchman to order around that was nothing more than a 'diseased cripple' if Tyrest hadn't come to rescue him.

Like it really is an interesting background dynamic with some curious implications, but when you look at fandom posts from around that issue/the years after, for some reason people just saw "Pharma worked with Tyrest" and concluded Pharma is a card carrying bigot ksjfnskxkd. Like yeah Pharma didn't do anything to stop Tyrest but it seems his main beef with the Autobots was with Ratchet in particular and maybe a general disdain for his ex-comrades. As well as continuing to hate Decepticons which like, not even the "good Autobots" are immune to (even in Pharma's introduction, First Aid says in his journal something like "yeah we all hate Decepticons, but Pharma REALLY hates them"). And despite what fandom likes to construe there's really no evidence in IDW1 that Autobots and Decepticons are different "races" or "types" of Cybertronians, so Pharma hating Decepticons really isn't a bigotry/robot racism thing. And instead probably has something to do with, idk, the 4 million year long galaxy-spanning blood feud war, or maybe being blackmailed and tortured into insanity by the Biggest and Most Decepticon-y of Decepticons.

Tyrest treated Pharma like trash, the other Decepticons working for Tyrest (how come no one ever brings that up btw) also hated him, so if anything it seems that Pharma was more of a rogue element only staying with Tyrest bc he was his best option and probably had no way to even escape.

I'm glad that at least in recent years the fandom has acquired a keen reading eye and good taste to finally recognize Pharma as the (accidentally) complex character he is instead of making him some posh, racist Starscream clone SHSJDGSGDH

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #yeah i'm apologisting again i guess my mental health is somewhat okay again dkdkkxckkddkd #(my followers seeing me post about pharma) nature is healing #there's also that line where pharma says 'maybe i can help' and skids is like #'fuck off and hope we don't beat you to death after this is over' #they didnt know that pharma was a test subject of the killswitch but wow #that's prolly one of the most out of pocket moments of the story that ive never seen anyone mention #honestly that moment is why i think JRO didnt intend pharma to be That Deep #i feel like that sort of 'not even other autobots like him' treatment is something #that comes up a lot in JRO's villain writing. or like asshole behavior towards some characters #is just plot events proceeding as usual. nothing to see just villains getting their due #tho tbh pharma's character in general suffers from the problem that he's so closely related to a main/major characyer #that it wouldve made way more sense for him to be written in earlier #so all his connections w/ ratchet and the plot had to be established retroactively #also speaking of 'asshole behavior excused bc it's towards a villain' #all those times when people are like (fucking amazing piece of medical research by pharma) #'then he started murdering his patients. what a piece of shit' #like idk it could have been intentional but imo all my readings of pharma were not really intended by JRO #and i'm fully just headcanoning and constructing theories on my own #like pharma was simply not important enough or a major enough character to get fleshed ojt #so basically we get enough pieces of him to establish continuity and a general timeline of his life and thats all

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: digital fanart of the owl house. The piece features Luz, the collector, and kid belos. Luz is in her season 3 design holding her bat and a backpack with her palismen inside. Both items are at her side and she looks on at the audience with a determined expression. The collector is on her left and is facing away from us with a mischievous face. Kid belos is on Luz's right, holding a wooden sword in one hand. The shading on him is reminiscent of a 1600s ink ink drawing. The background is black and white text above the characters reads "thanks to them, 15/10/22". End ID]

Happy owl house eve folks! Sorry about the UK date system <3

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #kid belos #the collector #toh belos #ME WHEN THE COMING OF AGE STORY USES ANTAGONISTS W/ ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT TO ACCENTUATE THE HERO'S GROWTH 😭 #seriously tho the way that luz (and hunter and eda to a lesser extent) act as like. narrative mirrorballs for nearly all the major bad guys #it's so good. chefs kiss #it's part of why a character like lilith is so rich she has SO many characters to bounce off of! #and again i think it's neat how toh has (so far- we'll see abt that ending) made a story abt a hero who like. has an escapist fantasy #of going to the demon realm and becoming a witch and running away from all her problems forever #and the storh tears that fantasy down! it says that it is objectively selfish and childish and unrealistic #and then. it still lets luz love the place she's in? the boiling isles is a real place and not just a vehicle for aesops #luz finds out her escapist fantasy world is a messed up place and yknow what? she sticks around to make it better #in both big and small ways #and belos and the collector contrast her perfectly in that sense- they both tyrannically/carelessly reshape the world around them #and absolutely refuse to accept a world that doesn't operate on their childish pretenses #and the only real difference between them and luz is the fact that luz learns and grows and changes #belos refuses to do this under pain of death and the collector is yet undecided #and whatever direction he goes in will probably define not just luz as a character but the owl house's thesis as a whole #in other words #I'm ridiculously excited for thanks to them #it airs at 2 am for me but i will still be staying up late to watch it and live chat w/ the besties. autism at work

[myinfinitevariety]

so now we have come to a great battlefield, the warmth of the fire, the fire still burning 

the heat escaping like a broken promise.

- the dislocated room, richard siken

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel #12x23 #all along the watchtower #queue changed me dean #richard siken #the dislocated room #MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH #poetry #brooks stuff #photo edit #destiel edit #edit #b&w #13x01

[needcake]

Imagine a verse where only one half of EngPort was a nation and the other was human. Like that one episode where there was Joan of Arc reincarnated.

Anon, if you're still out there, please know that this prompt has haunted my thoughts ever since you sent it to me.

I hope you enjoy it!

.

Ex duris gloria

Engport | R18 | 3,2k

England didn’t dwell on Spanish fishing villages often, but whenever he found himself near Setúbal he tried to make time to visit this particular one, pay his respects in the local parish, drink a sip of ginjinha at the tavern.

In this small fishing village, lost in the long Spanish coastline, he liked to think there was still something of Portugal left. Something of her laughter and her smile, of the easy way her eyes lingered on his.

>>Read more<<

#engport #hws portugal #hws england #alternative history #nation/human #hws fem!portugal #hws france #hws spain #ns//f/w #major character death #a wild fic appears #hetalia #credits for Glória for fem!port goes to Shacha

[theythemmer]

for years my friends have tried to get me back into minecraft and idk how to explain to them that after tosoth the game will never be the same . it’s been A DECADE and this fic still rules over my brain

#and don’t even TALK about snow angels around me i’ll cry blood and vomit tears #that fic gave me SO many trust issues i hve TO THIS DAY #and i KNOW ive ranted about this before but IT GENUINELY TRAUMATISED ME #but i was at one of the lowest points of my life and decided fuck it. i’m gonna read a long fic. i’m usually a max 25k person but i was like #nah let’s get invested in this one. good ol erisol human au. what could go wrong #oh dear reader it turns out that there was something that could go wrong #because at tht time i was an avid ff net user and there are no warnings there #especially not for major character death. #so i’m so invested in this fic #got a few chapters left. and then i start a chapter i swear ive read before in a one shot #and i’m over the MOON bc i know how this ends. they get engaged! so i’m SO fkn happy #and then. all alone in the snow of their front yard. eridans heart gives out. and he’s gone. #as a very traumatised teen who was dependant on happy endings to make me feel like life was worth living #i have never felt heartbreak and betrayal like that. only other thing that ever made me feel that much was my really messy breakup w da loml #i didnt sleep for a week. i was constantly sobbing and breaking down at school #reading about sollux going through their minecraft world and i just #yeah. #haven’t been able to make pancakes since too. used to be the thing i was best at #since then pancakes minecraft and snow angels are forever tainted #absolutely INCREDIBLE fic but i do Not do MCD or sad endings #and i was like being horrifically abused going thru hormonal conversion therapy to ‘fix’ my nonexistent sex drive #whilst dealing with r/pe accusations simultaneously . as a fkn 16 year old baby trans gay ace #so i was going thru it and when i tell you my ENTIRE mental state was depending on the dopamine i got from fan fictions w endings that #gave me hope my story wasn’t gonna end there. for them to struggle for so long to find true happiness within eachother #to them being torn apart by the cruel hand of death #bro i was inconsolable for so long . i still am and im almost 26 LMFAO #know it seems so silly to be so worked up over this but i can’t articulate how much my undiagnosed autistic bpd cptsd ridden self depended #on these fics to emotionally regulate #OBV THIS IS NOTHING AGAINST THE AUTHOR OR THE FIC I WAS JUST YOUNG AND TRAUMATISED AND COPING UNHEALTHILY #but i will never be able to play minecraft happily ever again

[autisticlancemcclain]

You Can Always Find Me (In Our Favourite Little Memories)

Keith/Lance (Voltron), MCD, Angst, 2.3k Words

Summary: 

“Well, we managed to avoid the worst case scenario,” Pidge commented, sounding a little strangled. Keith opened his eyes, just then realizing he’d shut them tightly. Man, he should have kept them shut. Standing in front of him was, well. Keith. A younger version of him — maybe 19? 20? — was standing in front of them, eyes narrow and stance wary. He had his hand on his knife. --- OR: Voltron gets a very special visitor, who brings up some memories.

---

“Allura — what’s going on?” Keith demanded, tense. Allura was gripping the helms of the wormhole pedestal, face screwed up in a deeply concerning mix of determination and panic.

“There’s — there’s something wrong with the teleduv! The wormhole is corrupting, it’s mixing with another reality! Probably!”

“So what does that mean?” Pidge interjected, tapping desperately on her holopad to see if she could fix anything. Allura was too busy to explain much else, so Coran weighed in.

“Best case, we get some visitors. Hopefully not from our exact timeline. Worst case, well. We won’t have to worry about worst case.”

“Because we won’t be there to worry about it,” Hunk inferred. Coran nodded grimly.

“Brace yourselves!” Allura shouted, and the team barely had time to hold themselves steady before there was a huge flash of light, and everything went still.

“Well, we managed to avoid the worst case scenario,” Pidge commented, sounding a little strangled. Keith opened his eyes, just then realizing he’d shut them tightly.

Man, he should have kept them shut.

Standing in front of him was, well. Keith. A younger version of him — maybe 19? 20? — was standing in front of them, eyes narrow and stance wary. He had his hand on his knife.

“Why am I here?” he asked, cautious. Shiro sighed, with what Keith felt was probably a tad bit much attitude considering the situation they were in.

Yeesh. They were alive , at least. Maybe he was just annoyed that this was biting into his nap time.

Keith fought down a smile at his own thoughts (he hung out with Pidge way too much) and went ahead and explained the situation before Shiro had a chance.

“We’re having some teleduv issues, so there was a timespace continuum problem. I think. Pidge could explain it in more detail, but something tells me you don’t really need to hear it.”

Timespace Keith visibly relaxed, slumping forward. “Oh. Cool,” he said. “Uh, what year is it? When can I go back? I was, um,” he flushed a little, “in the middle of something.”

Pidge could not resist teasing any version of Keith, apparently.

“Doing what?” she taunted. Hunk, who was a traitor and also loved driving Keith up the wall, jumped right in.

“Or maybe… doing who ?” he corrected, smirking. He and Pidge sniggered, fist bumping each other.

Regular Keith rolled his eyes, but Timespace Keith flushed red from his forehead to his neck.

“Nothing! Well, I mean, not nothing , Lance isn’t — not that I was doing anything with Lance! Well, I was, I’m not ashamed of him, but it’s not what you’re thinking! Or —" the giggles that had started at the beginning of his rambling mess of a defense had devolved into full-blown laughing.

“Shut up!” Timespace Keith demanded hotly. Keith decided to take pity on the guy. He was, after all, him .

“Please feel free to ignore them. They —" he looked at them pointedly — “are going to figure out how to send you back, with Allura and Coran. I can go show you some cool training moves, if you like.” The word ‘training’ wasn’t even out of his mouth before Timespace Keith perked up. Pidge rolled her eyes.

“Of course any version of you is obsessed with training,” she muttered. Keith ignored the comment, gesturing for Timespace Keith to follow him. The two made their way to the training deck.

Once everyone was out of earshot, Timespace Keith began firing off question after question, evidently not feeling shy around a future version of himself.

“So, am I in a different reality, or am I in the future? What year is it? Have we defeated Zarkon? Am I still half-alien here? Is — uh,” he coughed, going a little red, “is Lance around? Are we… close, here?” Keith smiled at the onslaught of curiosity, but couldn’t stop the slight pain from spreading through his chest. This Keith — he was so young . He hadn’t had the chance to have his heart broken one too many times.

“Don’t know, most likely, don’t know but probably around our fourteenth year in space, yes, yes,” he hesitated on the next question. “Lance is — on a mission. And yes,” he smiled softly, “Lance and I are definitely close .” He put special emphasis on the last word, the tiniest bit mocking so his past self knew that he was being teased. Timespace Keith flushed deeper. He cleared his throat again.

“That’s, uh. That’s good,” he said. A slightly awkward silence followed, luckily broken by their arrival at the training room. Keith opened the door, gesturing for Timespace Keith to head in.

“So… what are we gonna do?” Timespace Keith asked, rocking back on his heels. Keith raised an eyebrow, grinning slightly.

“Spar, dumbass. Did time travel knock out your braincells? Or did you leave them with Lance?”

Timespace Keith scowled. “My braincells are perfectly fine, thank you! I just didn’t want to make assumptions!”

Keith laughed lightly, stepping back into a fighting stance. Timespace Keith mirrored him.

“Ready?” Keith asked. In lieu of an answer, Timespace Keith surged forward, and the two began to fight.

“So,” asked Timespace Keith between punches, “can I ask you stuff about my future, or are you going to be weird about it?” Keith ducked, avoiding a blow to the head, and shrugged.

“No, you can ask,” he answered, “Pidge didn’t tell me to keep silent or anything, so I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. I probably won’t go into explicit detail or anything, but I’ll answer your questions.” There were a few moments of silence as Keith sped up, sending a flurry of movement and ninja prowess at Timespace Keith’s torso. He did his best to avoid it, but he was less trained than Keith, and it showed. He hit the mat with a bang, and scrambled back up immediately.

“Uh, okay. How did we kill Zarkon?”

“Lance’s plan. He did some intel and found the base controlling most of the sentries, and taking out Zarkon wasn’t nearly as hard when he had no protection.”

“Of course it was Lance’s plan,” Timespace Keith said, smiling softly. The goo-goo eyes were in full affect, and Keith’s chest ached at the sight. “How did we get Shiro back?”

“Black spit him back out of the astral realm when they felt he had enough rest and we had bonded enough as a team. It took about eight months. Almost right after Lance and I realised we worked best together in all areas, actually.” Timespace Keith flushed again, visible despite his already exertion-red face.

“So, uh, soon, then,” he surmised.

“If you and Lance just started seeing each other, then yeah. Soon.” Timespace Keith’s smile grew excited, boyish even, although whether it was at the thought of his and Lance's relationship or of Shiro’s impending return was up for debate. He was starting to slow, too, to tire out. He feinted to the left, likely trying out a disarming move that almost always worked on opponents. Unfortunately for him, Keith had been using that move for three times as long as he had, and he easily intercepted it, sweeping his leg and knocking Timespace Keith to the ground. Keith stayed there, catching his breath.

After a moment, he asked one more question. “Lance and I — are we forever? It feels like forever. He feels like forever. I want to marry him, I think. Do we — do we get that?”

Timespace Keith was still on his back, looking at the ceiling. Keith reached up to the ring he kept on the chain around his neck, and swallowed roughly.

“You’re going to love him until the day you die,” he said after a moment. “He’s your forever person.”

Timespace Keith sat up, scrutinising Leith for a moment. Keith held his gaze, face impassive despite the bleeding feeling in his heart.

“I guess I don’t need to know everything,” Timespace Keith decided eventually. Keith was saved from responding by a buzz on his comms.

“Pidge says they’ve figured out how to get you home,” he announced. Timespace Keith grinned, hurrying to his feet and heading to the door. The two walked back together in silence, but Timespace Keith’s quick footsteps and the smile he kept shoving down gave away his excitement. He clearly couldn’t wait to go home, to Lance.

Keith felt the ache in his chest deepen.

They arrived at the bridge, everyone turning to them as they entered.

“Hey, guys!” Hunk greeted. They both waved at the same time. Hunk grinned. “We can send you home, now, Other Keith. Step up onto this plate, keep your hands to your sides, and maybe close your eyes. Pidge is gonna press a button in a sec and when you open your eyes again, you should be right back home!”

Timespace Keith dutifully followed the instructions, but turned to face Keith before Pidge could send him back.

“Uh, thanks for the answers,” he said awkwardly. He twisted his fingers, debating something, then visibly decided to go for it. “Tell — tell future Lance I said hi, maybe, when he gets back from his mission.”

There was a sharp inhale from behind him, and the general look of joy dropped from Hunk’s face. Coran, Allura, and Shiro avoided Keith’s gaze, looking at the floor with similar tight expressions on their faces. Thankfully, Timespace Keith was too excited at the prospect of going home to notice, keeping his eyes on Keith’s face. Keith shot him a small, wistful smile.

“As soon as I see Lance again, I’ll tell him,” he promised. Timespace Keith smiled, then closed his eyes. Pidge pressed a button, and there was a flash of light, and then it was still, and Timespace Keith was nowhere to be seen.

A strange silence persisted among the team. Hunk was the first to break it.

“You told him Lance — that Lance was on a mission?” he asked quietly. Keith shrugged, intimately aware that he was not the only one feeling the persistent ache in his chest. It came and went, but no one on the ship was ever truly rid of it.

“No reason to hurt him any more than I have to,” Keith whispered. “He has time. Maybe it won’t even happen, for him.”

No one met his eyes. Everyone knew it was possible, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would change for them. They would feel this ache for the rest of their lives.

“Today has been… stressful,” Coran said after a moment. “Perhaps… perhaps we should all turn in for the night. Process.” There were murmured noises of agreement, and everyone began to head for their rooms. They all knew what Coran meant by ‘process’, and while it was sometimes best to do that together, everyone was a little too tired for that tonight. Too strained. Tomorrow, they’d gather together in the observation deck, watch the orbit of the Earth, and work through the pain in their hearts as a team. Tonight, they’ll allow themselves to feel it, just for a little while. To soak in it, to be grateful for it. To feel this grief was to remember the love they had for him.

—

Keith waited until he was sure everyone was asleep, and then grabbed Lance’s old hunter jacket from its special hook, making his way to the observation deck. He sat down, facing the stars, and held the jacket tightly in his hands, his whole body tense. A tear dripped down his nose, into his lap, and he let out a shaky sigh.

“I missed you worse, today,” he started. “We had some issues with the teleduv, and a version of me came to visit. Young. We had just started seeing each other, in his timeline. He was so smitten. It was honestly adorable.” Keith smiles shakily, more and more tears falling steadily from his burning eyes.

“He asked me if we were still dating, if we were in love. If — if I got to marry you.” Keith chokes on a sob, twisting the ring on its chain. The one he never got to use.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe you’re watching, and you know already. Sometimes I hope you are, that you’re always watching me. Watching all of us. I know that’s what you believed, that you’d be guarding your loved ones from Heaven. Man, I hope your God has given you something better to do.” He huffs out a broken laugh. “We’re pretty boring, these days, with no more Empire to defeat. Small missions, and all that.”

Keith balls up the jacket, pressing it to his face and letting it absorb his tears. He imagines Lance in front of him, holding him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Like he always did when Keith was grieving.

“I miss you so much,” Keith whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to be you. Or, at least, I wish I got to go with you. Do you know how hard it is, to wait for you? To hope that you’re right, and we’ll get to spend eternity together when I die? It’s hard on my own, Lance. I still can’t handle all the mushy shit. I still have to remind myself I’m part of a team.” Keith sighs, wiping his face and slipping the tear-stained jacket over his shoulders. He pulls the hood up, and looks out to the stars.

“I meant what I said,” he says softly. “To the other me. You’re it for me. I’ll love you till the day I die. I don’t care what else or who else I meet.”

He closes his eyes, bringing the ring up to press to his lips.

“I love you, Leandro Esposita-McClain. I miss you. I can’t wait to see you again.”

With that, he makes his way back to his bed and dreams of the life he could have had. The life spent to it’s fullest, with everything he ever wanted. Marriage, a family, settling down. Growing old with Lance.

Hopefully, somewhere, some version of them gets that.

#i refuse to suffer on my own #so when this came into my head i knew i had to drag yall down w me #vld #voltron #klance #langst #MCD #major character death not mcdonalds #keith #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #pidge #pidge holt #hunk #hunk garrett #shiro #takashi shirogane #allura #coran #hurt/comfort #hurt no comfort #angst #suffering #established relationship #well. #previously established relationship #my writing #fic #longpost

[juststarsandthemoon]

ao3 my beloved my baby my darling sweet would it kill you to do maintenance when I'm not ON A CLIFFHANGER

#lights on #the chapter is tagged w major character death BUT the story is tagged with angst w happy ending #who do i believe #ao3

[blockofhoney]

reminder i have the first chapter of my first fic on ao3 posted :) crime boys centric murder mystery au w/ some spooky ghost stuff b/c i can’t help myself

#paq.pen #dsmp fic #i will say that the major character death tag is there for a Reason. but it's probably not for the reason that you'd think #tread w/ caution if that sort of thing isn't your cup of cake

[whumpacabra]

Day 24 - Bloody Clothes

Hospital setting, wheelchair use, angst, implied character death, referenced captivity and torture, description of a corpse

[Directly follows Sleepless]

“…Can I see?” David could see Casey’s jaw working, tension gathering in his temples.

“I don’t think that’s - “

“I want - I need to see. Please.” His voice was tightening, and he dared to look up at Sarah. Even she wasn’t immune to those sad, blue eyes - and he wasn’t afraid to use that to his advantage.

Bear was dead - he had been for a while - but some part of David still needed convincing. To see for himself the rotted corpse of his best friend, his partner.

“He deserves this. And the techs will have a hell of a time getting a dental ID.” Casey shrugged, not quite meeting Sarah’s wavering gaze. “Let’s go Dave - elevator’s this way.”

—

“You sure about this?” Casey’s voice was low, soft eyes watching David with deep compassion. “It’s…not pretty.”

“Corpses in general aren’t that good looking, if you ask me.” David cracked a tight smile, breathing a sigh as he looked forward to opening elevator door. “I’m ready. It can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining it for the last few months.”

It was closer to a year. A year buried in sand and gravel - too deep for the condors or coyotes to find - a feast for ants and beetles and worms.

David hoped he wasn’t recognizable. He couldn’t stand to look at Bear’s face again after he had betrayed him.

The morgue reminded him of Cortazar’s basement. Cold and bare and illuminated only by artificial lighting. It turned his stomach that Bear was here - was it familiar to him too? Was he still scared?

“L34…here he is. We haven’t started the autopsy proper yet - he’s not cleaned up. Are you - ?”

“We wouldn’t be down here if we weren’t.” Casey gave the mortician a nod, eyes drifting to David.

It was lucky - or not - that the compartment the body was stored in was low enough for David to see from his wheelchair.

The door opened with a soft hiss, icy air and the faint scent of decay spilling out. David breathed slowly, the way RJ had tried to teach him: four in, hold, four out.

It was lucky - or not - that the body was as unrecognizable as David had hoped. A few patches of desiccated skin and hair still clung to dried bones, eye sockets long emptied of any judgement they might hold.

The clothes he knew.

The bloodstained Metallica t-shirt, ripped at the neckline and frayed at the hem. The flannel - David’s flannel - he had given Bear when he own clothes did little to protect him from the freezing temperatures or cover bloody lashes.

The cause of death wasn’t evident, unless the crushed, broken in jaw of the skull was an indication of the brutal, horrible death he had condemned his friend to. He couldn’t quite convince himself it was inflicted post-mortem.

“Dave?” There was concern in Casey’s voice, a far away sound that drew David back from the aching, guilty nostalgia gnawing at his ribs.

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Yeah that’s - that’s my flannel. His shirt. Um.” It was getting harder to breathe, his voice constricted.

“We good?” David nodded in response. Casey gave a wry smile and looked to the mortician. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She cringed briefly at the nonchalance in her voice, words growing softer. “I‘ll take good care of him. We can coordinate contact with next of kin another time.”

David gestured for Casey to wheel him back to the elevator. His hands were numb, shaking too hard to grasp the rim of his wheels.

“Did…was there anything else? Where they found him?” David was surprised by how flat his voice sounded, drained of any emotion or energy. Casey’s concerned expression was gentle.

“Some stuff. Do you want to - ?”

“Not today.” His breathing shuddered in his chest as he wiped tears from his face. “Thanks.” Casey nodded, exhaustion etched in his expression.

“It’s the least we could do.”

[Before One step at a time]

(Part of my Freelancers: Retirement series)

#whump #febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday24 #bloody clothes #blood #angst #corpse #major character death #(implied at least) #freelancers #I always write better in the morning. feeling better abt this one than the last few. #trying (key word) to see if the readmore is gonna work this time without deleting the last three paragraphs like it did last time #edit: IT DID IT AGAIN WHY. WHY DOES IT DELETE THE LINE W THE LINK UNDER THE READMORE ANSWER ME STAFF

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Game Over (Damien)

Glass Shards

Warnings: Major character death (yeah… I cried), terminal infection/septic shock, intentional overdose of painkillers, have I mentioned death, abandoning a dead body

Yeah, sorry, this is sad, and exactly what it says on the tin. Apparently I felt like cutting my heart out and putting it through a blender :’)

It’s a reply to this ask game, which has been sent for Damien by both @suspicious-whumping-egg​ and @whump-in-the-moonlight​

It’s basically a “Bad End” AU I guess, written by someone who said she doesn’t do AUs (aka me). Don’t read it if such things make you sad. Or do read them, I’m not your mom.

Also, you know what. I know I’m a day late, but I couldn’t write it yesterday, because some things you really can’t do during your mom’s bd dinner, so I’ll pretend it’s not a day late and enter it for @whump-of-the-month​ ‘s W day. Because someone surely gets fucked over by infected wounds. Sorry, my inspiration has been 🤏 this last week.

Masterlist

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

Merridy stared at the healer, white robes fluttering as she packed her things. Tinctures and salves, potions and bandages, one as useless as the other, all vanishing into her bag. When she was done, she didn’t close it yet, instead raising her head, meeting Merridy’s gaze, then looking at Damien.

“I can give you something against the pain,” she offered.

“We have something,” Merridy said. It didn’t even sound like her own voice in her ears.

The healer nodded, snapping her bag shut. Merridy’s ‘thank you, anyway’ was automatic; as were her steps, following the healer to the door, opening it for her, closing it behind her. The sound of the key locking it was overly loud, the sound coming from the bed barely audible. 

Damien’s gaze was distant, almost blank. But then, he had already felt it, said it, before Merridy had dragged the third healer into the inn. Wasting money she didn’t have, to hear the same thing over and over and over again. There’s nothing I can do.

She stumbled towards the bed, falling to her knees next to it. Her hands rested on the mattress, not quite daring to reach for him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to blink the blurriness in front of her eyes away. 

“It’s not your fault.”

The weakness in his voice was what broke the dam, letting her tears spill over and turning her next breath into a sob. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault — but what if it was. What if she could have saved him, if only she had changed the bandage more often, had gotten a healer sooner, had done more.

She had promised to save him, promised that everything would be all right. Merridy wondered if he had ever believed her, not knowing which answer to that question would be worse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, because what else could she say, what else could she do.

Damien’s left shoulder twitched. The healer had pulled the blanket up to his chin, and he was too weak to free his arm. Merridy reached under the blanket, taking his hand, feeling how cold it was. Cold, trembling, clinging to her touch with whatever strength he had left.

“I’m sorry.”

Holding his hand, she bedded her head on the mattress and started to cry.

-

During the next two days, she barely left his side; only to grab some food she barely tasted, or to go to the outhouse or fetch water. Damien’s condition was worsening, both too quickly and not quickly enough. She had stopped changing the bandage, because what was the point — it only made him scream in pain, and it wouldn’t do anything to save him.

Instead she spent both days and nights sitting next to him on the bed. Holding him when the fever left him shivering, trying to get him to drink; water and those herbal mixes that did nothing to help him. Talking to him, reading to him, when he was awake and lucid. Those moments had become rarer. Sometimes he didn’t recognize her, didn’t know what had happened, or where he was. 

It was hard to bear the pain in his voice, the fear in his gaze and the trust he still put in her, even when he couldn’t remember her name.

“Merry?”

His voice was strained, as if the only thing keeping him from crying openly was his weakness, or a scrap of willpower, or perhaps both. She looked up from the book she hadn’t been reading for a while. 

“I’m here.”

“Too… soon?” he asked, his words barely louder than his ragged breaths.

Merridy looked at the little vial, her heart heavy as she nodded. She hadn’t quite stuck to the healer’s instructions of using the drops no more than twice per day, but it had only been three hours since the last time. They barely seemed to work for two anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. How often had she said those words in those two days?

“Does it… does… matter?”

There was something else in his voice beside the pain and weakness. A resignation that was new. She studied him, trying to figure out if he was aware enough to understand what he was asking of her.

“It might kill you,” she said.

“I’m… dying.”

So he was. After everything, he was back to how she had found him; on the brink of death, scared and in pain. She saw it in his eyes in those moments when he forgot he had gotten out. When his broken words begged her to stop hurting him, to let him die, until she managed to get through to him, to tell him that he was safe. Safe, but dying all the same.

Merridy’s hands were trembling as she lifted the pitcher, to pour some water into the cup. Only a bit, to make it easier to drink. Then she counted the drops, watching them dissolve, turning the water the slightest shade darker. Too little water, too many drops, too soon. The bitter taste didn’t matter, not anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, she guessed.

When she was done, she propped a pillow under Damien’s head, fighting back the tears as he clenched his teeth and still screamed at the pain; not loud enough to draw anyone to their room, hopefully.

“Give… me. Not. Not you. I’ll do. Not…”

It was hard to figure out his words, and easy to figure out their meaning. He wanted to do it himself. She put the cup in his hand, closing his fingers around it, letting go.

It took Damien several minutes to find the strength to lift the cup to his lips. Some of the water ran down his chin, but he managed to drink most of it, the cup slipping out of his grip as he was done. Merridy caught it, put it back on the nightstand, then wiped the spilled drops away with a piece of cloth. His tears she wiped away with her thumb, feeling him shudder under her touch.

Holding his hand and fighting back her own tears, she waited. She didn’t have to wait long. The relief as the drops started to work was visible. His features softened, his hand in hers relaxed. His gaze, looking for hers, was unsteady.

“Mer… ry?”

“I’m here.”

The same answer, every time. The way he instantly calmed down, every time. When she slid her fingers to his wrist, she could feel his heartbeat; too quick, too weak, too irregular. His body was fighting a fight it could only lose.

“I’m here. Get some rest,” she whispered, laying down next to him. “I’ll stay with you.”

Wrapping her arms around him, trying her best to avoid the worst of his injuries, Merridy could feel him shiver. He had been too weak to sit up, to put a shirt back on, and his skin was clammy and cold. She slipped beneath the blanket, pulling it up over both of them. Sharing some warmth, and hoping her touch would tell him he wasn’t alone, even when unconsciousness would claim him again and her whispered ‘I’m here’ couldn’t reach him anymore.

-

Merridy awoke wrapped in numbness and cold dread. The body in her arms was too still, not quite cold, but also not warm enough; not after days of fever and chills and restless, nightmare-plagued sleep.

She didn’t have to look to confirm it, and she didn’t want to look, instead squeezing her eyes shut and holding onto him. For a moment only, until the unnatural stillness became too much to bear. It was wrong, so wrong, and she finally let go, pulling back and sitting up.

His features were relaxed, his eyes closed. His unkempt hair and wiry beard looked twice as dark as usual against his pale skin. She had sometimes wondered how he would look healthy and groomed and with a true smile, not the short kind, overshadowed by the sadness in his eyes. She would never find out now.

Merridy raised her hand to his head, brushing it through his hair, the one touch he had never shied away from.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

There was no rationale behind her whispered words, not enough knowledge of his past, of his alleged crimes, of the person he had been to truly evaluate exactly what level of suffering he might have deserved. There was only the hint of his kindness she had seen, and the certainty that no one, absolutely no one, would have deserved what he must have gone through.

Merridy wanted to scream at the unfairness of the world, to cry until her head would be empty, her feelings flown out of her eyes. But she had to keep it together. Had to figure out what to do next. She forced herself to look away, to get up on shaky legs and walk over to the window. It was still open, a chill on the breeze that made the curtains flutter. She didn’t feel the cold on her bare arms, not when her heart was so much colder.

Another kind of horror settled in as she realized that there was nothing she could do. Whatever the protocols would be for an unexpected death in this city — contacting a healer, a priest or an undertaker — she couldn’t follow them. Couldn’t risk fetching anyone who might ask questions, connect the dots, ask her why exactly she was renting a room with a wanted criminal.

She might be able to come up with some excuse, some kind of explanation, and she would have risked it for Damien, without hesitation, but… Damien was dead. There was no point in risking anything, not anymore. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. No, she had to get out of here, as quickly as possible. 

With trembling hands, Merridy grabbed one of her bags, emptying it, so she had room to fill it with her most important belongings. The few things she needed, and the even fewer things she was truly attached to. Between clothes and books, trinkets and tools, the bag filled way too quickly, and she decided to take a second one. Two, she would be able to carry, if barely. Still, there was too much she would have to leave behind, and no way this time to sell any of it. 

She could get new clothes, new blankets, new yarn and needles. Instead she decided to pack the things she had gotten Damien, the toys to help him train his dexterity, and the clothes she had gotten him. Her fingers traced one of the buttons she had sewed on, replacing bands so he would be able to close them on his own. 

She packed, and she paused, and she cried, and she sat down in front of the window, her back against the wall. The city had woken up, was bustling with activity, while the silence in the room was deafening. She wanted to break it, so she started to speak, to herself, to him, words that didn’t make sense, or perhaps they did. Fragments of thoughts, telling him about everything she would have wanted to show him. Asking him all the questions she’d never get a chance to ask now, about what had happened to him, how he had ended up like this. Telling him about her own life, things she had never told anyone, tears falling both for him and herself.

At some point, she started to pack again, the silence stretching longer and longer between whatever else she found to say. She pocketed the pouch with the coins that remained after paying for the room for a few weeks — weeks they’d never get to use now — and the healers and everything else she had tried to save him. There was enough money left to easily take two portals: one out of the city, to cover up her tracks, and another one back to Caldeia. If she hurried, she would make it before noon, would be able to pick any city she wanted.

But she couldn’t leave yet.

Placing both bags on the floor, she dragged a chair next to the bed, sitting down on it. Staring at Damien and at nothing, thinking of Damien and of nothing, talking to Damien and to no one. In between, she pulled the blanket up, straightened it. Hiding his battered body, and all the wounds that had been his end. The almost faded bruises on his face were the only traces she couldn’t hide.

By the time Merridy felt ready to leave, it was late afternoon. She had missed most of the portal attunements already, and if she didn’t go soon, she might have to spend another night in Dragon’s Reach. And she couldn’t, not in this room, not next to him. Perhaps not even in another inn, knowing that he’d be lying here, all alone, waiting to be found by someone.

She’d leave the door slightly open; not wide, too afraid someone might discover him before she managed to get away, but hoping that someone would find him soon. Despite everything, she felt bad for leaving the innkeeper to deal with it. Or she knew she would feel bad, if she could feel anything at all. As it was, even her fingertips felt numb as she scratched a few words into the wax tablet she had gotten Damien: I’m sorry for the trouble.

What a ridiculous message. She stared at it, racking her brain for anything better to say, but coming up blank. There were no words for this. She placed the wax tablet on the table.

She picked up her bags and started to walk towards the door, but then she paused, turning around again. Staring at him again. At the too-pale skin, the too-still body. He looked almost peaceful, almost sleeping, almost as if he could wake up again. Merridy crossed the distance, standing next to the chair, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch his cheek. His skin wasn’t fully cold, but definitely too cool to the touch, and despite her best attempt at keeping her touch light, she could feel the unnatural stiffness beneath.

She hated it, hated that this would be her last memory of him, but she also needed it. Needed it so desperately, knowing that he was truly dead. That he wouldn’t wake up, alone and terrified, that she wouldn’t leave him behind, abandon him to his fate.

“Farewell,” she whispered. 

- 

Her back and shoulders were aching from carrying her bags, her feet sore from walking so long and her eyes burning from all the tears she had shed when no one was looking. With barely three hours of sleep to show for the last two days, she had finally made it back home. Just that it didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

Merridy walked through the streets of Caldeia like a ghost, not seeing, not thinking, her feet finding their way on their own. Finding their way to Cedric’s house, where she slid one bag off her shoulder, raising her hand to knock at the door. She could have opened it herself, but she didn’t have the energy to try, to even reach for her lockpicks, buried somewhere in her belongings. 

She didn’t have the energy for a lot of things.

While she was waiting, her gaze fell on the wind chimes, hanging next to the door. For some reason, the colorful glass, reflecting the rays of the midday sun, made tears well up in her eyes. But then, most things had made her cry during those last two days.

When the door opened, the person standing in front of her was blurry.

“Merry?”

Cedric’s voice was familiar, gruff and warm and concerned all at once. Merridy blinked, but he didn’t become any clearer, just swimming in her vision as he reached out for her. She dropped her second bag as she took a step towards him, finding herself in his embrace a moment later.

He didn’t ask what had happened, and he didn’t have to. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her.

Cedric hadn’t trusted Damien, and he might even be relieved that the ‘problem’ had solved itself. If he was, he didn’t show it, taking her bags and leading her inside. Holding her as she fell apart. Carrying her to his bed when her strength left her, with a glass of water on the nightstand and the promise that he’d be downstairs if she needed anything. Letting her stay for a few weeks, in his office, quickly turned into a guest room. Not asking her any questions until she was ready; and even then only the necessary ones, careful to not open up more wounds than necessary.

With time, she’d return to her old life, a bit more careful on her heists than before. She wouldn’t forget Damien, but the pain would fade, a sadness stored away in her heart, only letting tears spill if she allowed it. 

But sometimes, watching the stars or reading a book or folding a blanket, there would be a fleeting memory, a word, a smile, a gesture. Bringing the question of ‘what if’, and the deep yearning of a missed chance. Perhaps, in another life, things could have ended differently.

Tagging: No one, it’s too sad :’)

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #major character death #heed the warnings above please <3 #w day #w day 2022 #my writing