#aftermath of death

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 2: Growing Pains

<prev next>

Happy Birthday Khaled! This is the part where your backstory starts to go downhill. Thank you @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for beta reading this!

TW/CW: death of a family member, aftermath of death of a family member

Language Note: The Urdu words I used were learned through reading multiple language-learning blogs, culture blogs, Reddit, and of course, the ol' reliable Google Translate. If I misrepresented any of the expressions (which is extremely likely) please let me know as civilly as possible, because I'd rather know than not know.

Khaled stared at the freshly filled-in earth, his swollen red eyes blurring as he took in the finality of it. The mourners had finally started dissipating, leaving only Abdul Bakhsh’s widow and children at the grave. A large, heavyset man with glasses came up to him and his mother, expressing his condolences, and extending a surprising offer.

“Your father and I were good friends,” he began, addressing Khaled directly. “He would want his family provided for. So, whenever you can manage it, you’re more than welcome to work at my café, if you’d like.”

The teenager blinked up at him confusedly. “Me? W-Why?”

“You’re the next man in the family,” the friend explained, “you have three younger siblings to look after, and your mum can’t do it alone with only her meager salary.”

He was completely right. Almost instantly, Khaled could feel the weight of these newfound responsibilities settle on his shoulders.

“Muhammad, this is not a good time-” his mother began to intervene.

“Ammi, it’s okay,” he interrupted. Mum glanced at him hesitantly, but ultimately backed off. Khaled faced the man again, all serious as he said, “I’ll think about it, sir. Thank you for looking out for us.”

And that’s how he ended up here, now, wiping down tables with a wet dish rag. He had quit school after the academic year was up, going full time at Mr. Saeed’s café as soon as he could. He mostly washed dishes or cleaned up after customers, five days of the week from noon to ten in the evening. He didn’t make much money, but, after an entire year of buffing coffee stains out of linoleum countertops, he’d like to think this little job was helping his family in some way.

The bell above the shop dinged, and he waved to the new customers that entered. His old friends, Tariq, Imran, and Muhammad, waved back, all smiles as they jostled up to the counter and placed their orders. They took a seat at the table Khaled had finished cleaning up, asking about him and how his family was doing.

“They’re great, they’re fine,” he replied. “Yusuf and Ayesha are still in school, and they’re finally stepping up and helping me and Ammi with the twins!”

“That’s great!” Tariq exclaimed. “It’s about time they pitched in!”

“It can’t have been easy to parent your little sisters all the time,” Imran commented.

Khaled briefly recalled late nights of emotions running high, of careless words being thrown about, and of him having an emotional breakdown in front of his siblings. “I’m not Dad!” he screamed at them. “I’m sorry that I’m not doing things exactly like he used to do them, but nobody is more aware of the fact that I’m not him than me!” And while his emotional outburst earned him a serious talking-to from his mother, it seemed that Yusuf, Ayesha, and the twins were much more forgiving of his shortcomings after that.

“Never mind Khaled’s troubles, what about ours? What even is this shit?” Muhammad groaned as he stared at his calculus homework.

Khaled peeked over his shoulder and let out a shudder.

Imran caught his subtle reaction and smiled bitterly. “You’re lucky you dropped out when you did,” he said. “This coursework is so hard! I mean, just look at my literature homework!” He rifled through his bag before he pulled out a thin paperback book and a double-sided sheet of follow-up questions.

“How much of it do you have to read?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?!”

A moist towel whipped at Khaled’s head, bringing his attention to somewhere behind him as the towel smacked him with a wet thwack! Hamza, an older employee, glared at him from behind the service counter. “You want to socialize, do that on your break, Khaled!” he reminded him.

“Yes, sir!” Khaled replied, although it physically pained him to call the annoying nineteen-year-old ‘sir.’ He quickly made his excuses to his friends and left them to do their homework in peace.

A few more regulars walked in after his friends had left: the real estate agent who always ordered a double espresso, the lawyer who constantly smelled of tobacco smoke, the university students who also came to do their homework there. They even got a few first-time customers, locals and tourists alike. There was one girl who walked into their café near the end of the day, wearing a magenta pink kurta and blue jeans with sandals. A cream-colored dupatta was wrapped around her graceful neck. She ordered a latte and sat down in one of the booths by the window, scrolling through her phone as she waited. She was the most beautiful girl Khaled had ever seen. Long, glossy, dark brown hair cascaded in loose ringlets down her back, and, as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, he caught a glimpse of electrifying blue eyes underneath thick eyelashes. She looked up from her phone, and for a moment, blue eyes locked with brown. Khaled couldn’t help but feel a flush of heat spread over his face, despite standing directly beneath the ceiling fan. The girl waved a hand at him in greeting and smiled. She smiled at him. Khaled could hear his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage.

He received another wet towel slap to the head, and a reminder not to openly gape at the customers. He shook his head and blinked a few times to reorient himself, then collected the rest of the used mugs to take back to the kitchen.

He saw the girl around the café quite a few times after that. About a month later, he was lucky enough to take an order out to her, and then another, and then a few more. He became addicted to her smile, to her laugh, to her. The girl –Shazia–was enough for him to stay behind off-hours and learn how to use the milk foamer. Seeing her light up and hearing her beautiful laugh when she saw his happy face latte art was the best fifteenth birthday present he could’ve ever asked for.

A week after he presented his latte art, she had asked to talk to him during his break. So, there they sat, at her usual booth near the window, talking about anything and everything as she drank her falooda and he collected her empty glass when she was done. And one break’s worth of talking together quickly became a routine whenever Shazia came to visit.

“I don’t know, doesn’t it seem kind of odd that a grown woman is expressing interest in Khaled, of all people?” Hamza mused one night as the boys were going through closing tasks at the end of the night.

“‘Grown woman?’ She’s like, eighteen,” Khaled argued, leaning against his broom as he took a break from sweeping the floor. “That’s only three years older than me, and a year and a half younger than you.”

“Pay him no mind, Khaled,” Kamran, the other employee, smirked. He inverted chairs on top of freshly cleaned tables, clearing the way before Khaled could sweep the floor underneath. “He’s just jealous,” he taunted, earning a sour glare from the boy setting up the coffee machine for the next morning.

“I’m not jealous!” Hamza defended.

“Boys! Am I paying you to talk, or am I paying you to work?!” their employer snapped, coming back with an empty cash drawer after doing the final count for the day. All three employees offered their apologies and quickly got back to their given tasks. Mr. Saeed rolled his eyes. “Chalo, chalo, the sooner we wrap this up, the sooner all of us can go home!”

To Khaled’s surprise, Shazia was waiting outside the café as he stepped out after closing. He waved at her, smiling, yet confused. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t mind seeing you,” he clarified, “but, it’s late, and you’re alone. Don’t you have family that will worry?”

“Khaled, it’s fine, I just wanted to see you after work, that’s all!” she explained.

She wanted to see me? Me? He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. He looked back smugly at his older coworkers. Hamza glared back in poorly disguised envy, and Kamran threw him two thumbs up. “I –uh, sure! Yeah, okay,” he chuckled.

They walked from the café to a brightly lit storefront, where Shazia and Khaled briefly bickered over who was going to pay for the kulfis they selected. “But, I should pay, I’m a man!” he insisted.

“No, you’re fifteen.”

“Yeah, exactly! Wait-” Khaled paused, giving Shazia enough time to pay for their treats.

“I’ll be honest, Khaled,” Shazia began as they walked out of the store with kulfis in hand, “I waited for you tonight because I actually wanted to ask a favor of you.”

Khaled perked up, pausing mid-lick with his tongue millimeters from the icy treat before him. “Me?” He committed to the lick, then composed himself. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She threw her hair back over her shoulder, making micro adjustments to get it out of the way of her face. “You see, I’m a model, or at least I plan to be.”

“Makes sense, you’re definitely pretty enough to be a model.” Her laughter made Khaled blush red as he realized he had voiced that thought out loud.

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you!” She took a few licks of her kulfi before continuing. “So, I was going to do a photoshoot tomorrow with my photographer, my agent, and a friend of mine to round out my portfolio, but my friend just said he’d come down with a cold, and now he can’t make it tomorrow,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s awful, I’m sorry. Can you carry on without him, though?” Khaled asked.

Shazia shook her head and sighed. “We’re doing a sports-themed photoshoot, and it wouldn’t look right if it was just me kicking around the football. So…” she hesitated, before shyly asking, “...would you mind filling in for my friend tomorrow?”

Khaled’s brain bluescreened, taking a second to reboot as Shazia tried to further persuade him. “It would only take an hour or two at most, you would be paid for your time, and my photographer and agent will make sure it’s fun for both of us-”

Khaled’s lips widened in a smile. “I’ll do it!” he decided. She could’ve told him it would take five hours in the freezing rain and he’d still be down for spending more time with her. “Where, and what time?” he asked eagerly.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

A million possibilities, a million different deaths, and I just HAD to be the one that's all alone.

[metalphoenix]

Do you think theres a memorial to the second Robin in Crime Alley? I like to think that even if the rest of Gotham didn't know where he came from that Crime Alley knew he was one of theirs.

Do you think they were devastated when it came out he was dead? I don't think it would be a official memorial or anything. When it was announced he was dead people started putting candles/cards/stuffed animals/food out on their roof tops in honor of him.

Maybe a few weeks later someone graffitied a mural somewhere up high in his honor. They did it in the middle of the night. After that people started to leave things there.

Theres no official care taker for the memorial. Everyone helps out. People who leave stuff take care to clean up any trash left around. Theres a few people who make sure theres always at least one candle lit.

One day its vandalized. Robin may have been one of them but its Crime Alley and he made life difficult for criminals. Maybe someone he put in jail got angry and vandalized it. The people fix it. There no call to action they just see it and take it upon themselves to restore it.

Do you think Jason sees it when he comes back as Red Hood? I think he found it in his first two weeks back in Gotham. He wasn't big yet. He was still taking control. He stumbles upon it on accident. He's not expecting it. He's grateful no ones around because he breaks down. The enormity of everything that happened to him hits him like a brick and suddenly he's on his knees sobbing.

Maybe once he's taken over and the people trust him he'll ask about it. He'll ask why they care about the second Robin. Why do you take care of the memorial so intensely? They tell him. They tell him they know the second Robin was one of them. They tell him how much hope he brought to the people that had none. Do you think he realizes how much he meant to these people?

Maybe someone connects the dots. They don't know who he is but they see how fiercely protective the Red Hood is of the alley and they remember the boy in bright colors and an even brighter smile. They look at this angry broken man trying so hard to do good and see the boy who died too soon.

The next day a mural of Red Hood pops up across from the Robin Memorial.

[tenowls]

teacher getou au...... wauh

[flwrkid14]

The Immortal Weight of Tim Drake

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

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

He’s not like Jason.

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

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

But Tim doesn’t know that part.

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

And that’s what hurts the most.

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

For them, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[megamagimugi]

I Was-a Too Late

CW: blood, implied character death(s)

[insert your favorite Mario game over jingle here]

I have nothing to say for myself.

I'm so sorry.

@wahooitsamee @peaches2217 You guys seemed interested, so... enjoy?

EDIT: I have a Luigi version (well, sort of) now too, called He's-a Gone if anyone's interested!

[ky-landfill]

[arachnestwilight]

Sorry for putting Hetalia on your dashboard in 2024, but this has been vaguely on my mind for, like, five years.

[abhainnwhump]

Caretaker refuses to clean out Whumpee's room. They haven't even gone in there to clean out dust since they were kidnapped. The blankets were as messy as ever, the photos were all in place, and not a single collectible was out of place. Caretaker knew one day, Whumpee would come through the front door, maybe a little beat up, and they could all move on from this. It was going to happen soon.

Even though Whumpee's funeral was two days ago.

[serickswrites]

Sugar Plums Dancing in Their Heads

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, temporary character death, nightmares, flashbacks, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Caretaker ran down the corridor. They couldn't be too late. Their exhausted body protested being pushed further, their lungs screaming for air. But they couldn't stop. They were so close. They had found Whumpee. Whumpee needed them.

Caretaker skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor, where it opened up to a great room. "NO!" They screeched as their brain finally made sense of what their eyes were seeing.

Whumpee hung limply in the chains keeping them suspended the air. Blood dripped from the deep cuts that littered their body. Their head hung low, obscuring their face from Caretaker's view.

"Whumpee, no! Say something! I'm here!" Caretaker shouted as they raced forward. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

Whumpee didn't move. Didn't groan. Didn't so much as even breathe as Caretaker called to them. "Whumpee, please, say something," Caretaker said as they reached Whumpee.

Caretaker gasped as they could finally see Whumpee's face. Their eyes were closed, their features lax. Blood and saliva dripped from their mouth. "Whumpee, please. Please, you have to be ok. You have to be ok." Caretaker pressed two shaking fingers to Whumpee's throat.

"NOOOOOOO!" They screamed as there was no pulse beating beneath their finger tips. "PLEASE NOOOO!"

"Caretaker, Caretaker," a voice called gently, wrenching Caretaker out of their horror, "Caretaker you have to wake up."

Caretaker jolted awake. They blinked against the bright lights in the room. Where were they? Whumpee? "I didn't fall asleep."

"You were having a nightmare," Friend said with a gentle smile, "you fell asleep after we got home from visiting Whumpee. You were so exhausted, I thought it best to let you sleep."

Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief. It was a nightmare. It was only a nightmare. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was alive and healing in the hospital. Whumpee wasn't dead. They had arrived in time. "Thanks for waking me."

Friend nodded. "How about we get you some nice chamomile tea and see if we can chase that dream out of your head."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[serpentface]

This image had a far superior, silly first draft that I kind of wish I went with instead

[samglyph]

I’m now learning that a lot of people who are in the “it was too sad” camp think jinx is dead. Guys. Guys you know she’s not dead right. Like that’s not me coping like very obviously she is alive. Even disregarding the blink and you miss it frame of her zooming away from the explosion Caitlyn looking at the plans of the hexgate tunnels at the end and smiling is clearly meant to imply that someone could escape through them. And this is what she wanted. She wanted to leave. She’s escaping the story. Literally.

[lonelyzarquon]

A thousand bodies piled up I never thought would be enough To show you just what I've been thinking

[cpt-winters]

Battle Aftermath - *Team Leader Edition* ofc

Leader let out a shaky sigh as he cranked the shower knob, shuddering as the lukewarm spray hit him, water stinging the broken skin littered across his torso.

He closed his eyes, letting the pink-tainted water trickle down his grime-coated form. His shaky fingers ran across the dirt clinging to his forearm before his gaze fell to the tiled floor, watching the red spill down the drain. 

He should've tried harder.

Youngest needed him, and he couldn't- couldn't save them.

Leader turned his front to face the water, promising himself that was the reason for the moisture slinking down his cheeks as he stiffened his jaw.

His teammate's once pleading eyes still bore a hole through his brain, the gruesome imagery bled into his head, spilling across his thoughts.

Leader's temple ached as he let it fall against the tile in front of him, leaning his head against the wall while his throat tightened.

"Boss? Leader, you alright in there?"

Leader straightened to the unmistakable voice at the other side of the door, hissing at the jolt in his side from the sudden movement.

"Y-" He cleared his throat, the hoarseness of his voice intolerable to be heard over the running water. "Yeah. Yeah, all good," Leader called back, calm and unreadable as ever.

Or maybe not.

He could practically hear Teammate's frown from the next room with the resounding hesitance.

"..You sure?"

"Yes- Dammit!" Leader sucked in a shallow breath, refusing to let a sound escape him before regathering himself. "Just go."

A coppery taste pricked his tongue as he bit the inside of his cheek, stomach knotting as he waited for the footsteps outside to finally recede.

He was fine. He wasn't the one who- He was fine. And if everyone would stop asking about it, that would be just fucking great.

He was quick to stifle the first sob threatening the break through, quicker still to muffle the next he failed to. His vision blurred, shoulders shaking as he pushed the back of his bruised wrist to his mouth, refusing to let a single sound escape him.

1/3 (Part Two , Part Three)

[borgialucrezia]

"There is that final embrace that I think helps with letting his brother go in a way. Juan has been the one who drove Cesare to become what he is now, and I think Cesare is building walls around his heart. You do get colder and less sentimental when you take that path. He has to go on and he can't mourn him forever, especially since he's responsible for his death. He's not making excuses for what he is anymore, and what he wants to be. He ultimately feels that it's the right thing for himself. It's something that he focused on and I think he can control his mind into having no second thoughts. And that's the only way you can rule in that era, really." — FRANÇOIS ARNAUD

[duketectivecomics]

‘Jason was Duke’s robin’ ‘tim was dukes robin’ YOURE ALL FOOLS

Steph as dukes most formative robin is RIGHT THERE