#death for tw

[aurormax]

You have been given Trust.

It sounded particularly false coming from Katie's lips. The phrase echoed in her mind as she walked out of the funeral hall, rattled against her skull and pressed down her aching spine. She paused at the door, turning, waiting for Katie. Katie, who could barely spare a glance for her.

You have been given Trust.

The walk back to her office was long, and completely alone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor ahead of her, as if it would stop the division's Majors muttering to each other: How could someone like Squint, so shrouded in secrecy and responsible for Ashworth's death, be given any parting words at all? Least of all, Trust?

They had the sense not to bug her about it for the rest of the day, leaving Max to drown in her thoughts and files and reports and audits. She was barely aware of the late hour when her phone buzzed, lighting up as a message flashed across the screen:

New Message From Althea Rosi: 🍷?

[xiomarawinters]

Xiomara had never attended a funeral before. 

She’d always been away at school when Maman’s husbands passed away, and she’d been shipped off to England too quickly after the scandal that led to her expulsion from Beauxbatons.

She didn’t know what to wear, how to act, what to do. Which wasn’t fantastic when she was responsible for the safe house, while Nate was away. Xi settled for making the day as normal as possible, though she was dressed nicer, and more conservatively. She still made coffee to share. She still fetched the mail from its slot and took her potions and wrote in her journal. She shared a few words with Ruma in the living room, who offered her quiet words of strength. 

And then she touched the portkey to the funeral.

Ralph’s body was obstructed from immediate view. Someone had wrapped him in cloth, and he was laid atop a pyre of sorts. Next to the pyre was a freshly dug hole. It was messy, uneven; clearly dug by hand. Hedges, who had gathered together for hours before the funeral technically began, had placed different tokens and mementos around him- so many, that even Xi had to strain her neck to actually see the cloth.

He was surrounded by artwork, by flowers, soft pillows and warm blankets. Someone had thoughtfully placed a warm dressing gown and pair of slippers at his feet, which Xi supposed Ralph might appreciate, if there was an afterlife. She was just contemplating that, imagining the soft-spoken hedge witch sitting up and placing them on, when she felt a hand slip into hers.

None of the others would dare, so without looking, she knew it was Nate. Xiomara’s fingers laced with his, and she shifted closer to him, before tilting her head to rest against his shoulder. They stood together for the rest of the funeral, not speaking, not even looking at each other- though Xi’s thumb would occasionally stroke down Nate’s hand when she felt his muscles tense.

She stood quietly, reverently, while the hedges paid there respects, and stayed with Nate until he turned to her, finally meeting her gaze. Xi nodded in quiet understanding, and both turned back for the portkey, managing to just take it as Ralph’s body settled into the grave before the pyre. 

The house was quiet when they returned. Xiomara took off her coat, placing it over the back of the couch, before she moved to Nate, who was holding onto the stair railing as if for dear life. She ran her hands up his arms, her palms spread over his shoulders, fingers wringing out the knots beneath the fabric before she inched his own coat off, dropping it just next to her own. Then, Xi started up the stairs, turning back to Nate and taking his hand, bringing him along with her.

She closed their bedroom door behind them, wrapped her arms around Nate’s neck, and brought him closer, closing her eyes as she held him silently. Merlin, she’d missed him. Finally, Xi pulled back, her hands moving down to rest against his chest as she looked up at him. “I have a surprise for you.”

@giggle-me-this @giggle-me-this

[casshasfangs]

fight fight kiss kiss [shosh/cass]

The door shut behind him with a deep thud, and Cass exhaled, loosening his tie and slumping against the wood in one clean movement. The state funeral by the Ministry had been as infuriating as expected, but the vampire funeral was honestly just... Exhausting. He was on edge after having to be around so many mirrors, which had been set around his Dad’s coffin as a stark reminder of their fragility. Having Robin sit in the front row was a slap in the fucking face, but it was tradition. He hadn’t managed the energy to speak, but Shosh had encouraged him to sing, and he handled that. He even played his own accompaniment. And then there was Cynthia, carrying on moaning and crying and whimpering through the funeral, especially after the sacrifice. She’d been the one to demand the tradition occur.

It was fucking nauseating. He looked across the empty room at his own donor, who looked rather pale and unwell. Despite his own exhaustion, Cass pushed himself up to cross the room. “You don’t have to stick it out for me,” He offered a grim, thin-lipped expression, moving to put his hand on her arm and rubbing a little. “I’ll get all the chairs and everything. You can go to bed, it’s okay.” She looked far more than tired, but Cass wasn’t about to ask her what was wrong after she just sat through her second funeral for the week. 

@virtuoshosh 

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

  I want to thank DAI for being my safe haven for a while after my mom died. I lived so much through the perfect life of being somebody and having the life I always created for myself. For some reason, is not working and it makes me so sad that I don't have anywhere safe anymore and I feel that I am trapped in the fade with my memories, mourning painfully.            

[toyourliking]

well. a woman who i talked to quite a bit at uni, and who i shared all my classes with, passed away during the holiday break.

[mass-effect-anonymous]

Confession:  My grandmother died last year. My brother, a couple of years before that. My most recent play of Mass Effect trilogy, I choose to be a Colonist because they lost their family in a raid. I headcanon Shepard saw their parent and their brother die, like I did. It really helps me get into character and engage with the game emotionally. You never realize how horrible death is before you really see it. And it still hurts, but these games help me heal and give me comfort

[poesdaughter]

coworker: are you okay you look like you've decided to give up on life me: i have coworker: *nervous laughter* me: *blank face* coworker: ..............

[jesssicaday]

it was my grandma’s funeral today and i’m so glad i managed to read out the piece i wrote for her. i think i would’ve regretted it if i hadn’t done it. 

it’s not gonna get any easier from now on, but the service was perfect and it was the send off that she deserved. 

[phoenixflames12]

Grief is a really hard thing to deal with, especially when you know that you shouldn’t really be feeling like an emotional meat cleaver has carved through your heart. It was a long illness, a long and bloody painful, pointless illness and he was 72, dying peacefully at home, having had a long and happy life with a brilliant marriage, three children (my cousins, all grown up and graduated and safe with jobs), but I just can’t imagine a world without him and it hurts. 

[casshasfangs]

Cassius Halestorm's life was now divided into two sections: Pre-Stevie Nicks, and Post-Stevie Nicks. Of course, Pre-Stevie Cass had cared immensely about the band and put time and effort into making things sound good, but after the White Witch herself had written them a letter, things kind of blew up. They had to redirect fan mail to Piper, because the school owls were getting frustrated. The Slytherins were getting mad at him because Gryffindor first years kept trying to sneak into his dorm. Piper was owling them albums to sign, for fuck's sake. And then there was the practice, the writing  the furious injection of energy that the illustrious Stevie Nicks had thrust into the band. It was exhausting. Like the recording day, but every day.

So, when Cass crashed at night, he crashed hard. He was asleep by ten, which never happened, only because Shosh had the foresight to let him feed before practice that night instead of after. Even so, Cass was exhausted when he felt someone shoving his shoulder in the early hours of the morning.

Cass started, squinting as his assailant pointed his wand in Cass's face, the bright light blinding him. "Merlin's beard, can you fuck off? Put that light out." 

The prefect pursed his lips, then shoved Cass again. "Professor Izaak needs to see you. Come on, put your shoes on." 

"What? Why? What time is it?" Cass grumbled, still groggy as he rolled over in bed, convinced this was a prank from jealous Slytherins who were sick of the aforementioned first years.

"It's 3am, so you best not keep me up anymore, you prat." His roommate waved his wand and Cass's blanket was stripped off him. Cass literally growled and then leaned down to shove his feet in his converse sleepily. He was already wearing a band shirt and his flannel pyjama pants. He couldnt be arsed changing just for a prank.

He followed his roommate out to the common room, and Cass yawned as he walked out of the dungeon, covering his mouth and pausing, freezing in his tracks when he realised that this wasn't a prank. Professor Izaak stood at the entry to the Slytherin common room. It was odd seeing him in casual robes. 

"Professor?" Cass was wary when he noticed another witch with him. She wore auror's robes- and had a look about her that Cass was certain he'd seen her somewhere before. In the paper? With his Dad? "Professor  what's going on?"

"Evening, Cass," His Head of House looked more scruffy than usual, like a late evening shadow had appeared on his face. It made Cass uncomfortable, because Professor Izaak was always so put together. "The Headmistress needs to see you in her office, she's asked me to take you there now."

And then they left, with no mention of why the auror followed them. Cass kept looking at her out the corner of his eye, still slightly dazed from just being woken. He swallowed as he walked, trying hard to keep calm. They knew he was feeding from Shosh, surely that was it. Or that he hadn't signed his Census. They knew and he was getting thrown into Azkaban late at night. What would happen to the band? To his guitars? Who would tell Shosh? His Dad?

All of this fretting built as Cass was led up to the Professor McGonagall's office, and Cass heard the heartbeats of more humans than just his Headmistress. No, there were... Five people in her office. 

Cass swallowed, panic rising in him. The only calm constant he had was Professor Izaak, who he was certain would not lead him into danger so calmly. He'd been one of Cass's strongest advocates since day one.

This anxiety was not abated, though, when he was led into the room and realised that three of the people in the room were also aurors. Four, when you counted the one who had been following them. The auror at the door was particularly intimidating when gangly, awkward, pale Cass passed by him, about half the man's size. They were going to take him to Azkaban. He was done for. This was it.

He paled when Professor McGonagall turned, stepping towards her desk, revealing the other adult in the room.

Duncan Armstrong.

The Minister for fucking Magic.

"Thank you for fetching him, Gerolt. Take a seat, Mister Halestorm." His Headmistress said, and Cass blinked, nodding mutely. 

Cass's knees practically knocked as he moved to the indicated seat and sunk into it.

He wondered if maybe he should apologise, if admitting anything outright might win him some favour, or if he should go down denying that he’d ever fed from Shosh. Maybe he’d get some sympathy if he explained what happened with Pomonia. The Slytherin swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked between the adults in the room, eyes wide and terrified as they watched him.

The Headmistress spoke again, her tone unchanging from when she’d spoken earlier. “I’m afraid there is no easy way to deliver this news, Mister Halestorm, but it has come to our attention that your father has been the victim of a fatal attack on his return home from the Ministry. I’m very sorry you had to be told in such a manner but we thought it prudent you be made aware immediately.”

Cass blinked. What?

Maybe stunned silence wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting, because McGonagall pursed her lips into a very thin line as she informed him, “The Minister insisted he come and inform you directly.”

Cass was still staring straight ahead. What? What had she said? His father? Fatal attack? He blinked drearily, watching through hooded eyes as the Minister stepped forward, pulling his shoulders back. “Thank you, Headmistress. Cassius, I would, if I may, express my deepest sympathies to you. Your father and I have been working very closely over the past year and I am shocked that such a thing has occurred; rest assured when I tell you that we are doing everything we can to find out who is responsible. I also want you to know, from myself directly, that I’m willing to make this time for you as comfortable as I can. I’ll admit that I feel partly responsible, what with it happening so closely to the Ministry itself, but I feel obligated to your father to offer as much support to you as I can."

The boy frowned at the floor, and tilted his head. Partly responsible. The Minister for Magic felt partly responsible for what had happened? Not because he did nothing but fueled the flames of hatred that had been burning brighter than ever- but because apparently his Dad had been murdered in a politically inconvenient location. The first emotion Cass felt since he’d heard the news ripped through him as he looked up, gaze teary and hot and angry. The feeling didn’t go through to his voice, apparently, because it was flat and monotone by the time Cass looked up at the politician. “You are… Completely responsible. You did this. You want us to register like fucking dogs? You practically put the stake in their hand.” 

Heightened by the intense feelings he was experiencing, Cass heard the soft footsteps of his Head of House behind him. Professor Izaäk cleared his throat, eyeing the aurors carefully. Cass was not usually this brash- but the Minister had brought his personal aurors for a reason. They thought the boy was a threat. It was written all over Mirilla’s face and countenance. She had not moved from her position behind the Minister, but she also hadn’t moved her eyes off Cass. Watching him like he could lash out at any moment. Cass was oblivious to it.

It physically ached him when the Minister continued to speak. “I understand your frustration, Cassius, but your father and I were working to come to an agreement about the new regulations. It’s one of the reasons why it’s been taking so long; I wanted to be confident he was happy with the proposal before we moved forward with any action.” Cass closed his eyes and curled inward, trying desperately to continue breathing. His chest had started to ache- and every word from this man was twisting in his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

There’s silence for a moment, and Cass can sense them all watching him. The sound of so many heartbeats echoing in the room was maddening, so the teen opened his eyes and looked around. His Head of House was watching him with a soft, sympathetic look. Professor McGonagall was stoic as always, unreadable. It was a comfort to have nothing change. "How did this happen? He… he was staked, right? There's no other way. Who.. What happens now?" Cass asked his teachers, looking between them.

His shoulders hunched when Professor Izaäk opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the Minister. It hurt. It hurt so badly that Cass could barely comprehend what he was saying. Tears gathered in his eyes. “We’re not sure who is responsible, but I can promise you I have my very best from the Ministry’s Law Enforcement investigating the incident as we speak. As for our next move, our,” He gestured around the room while Professor McGonagall conjured a tissue, and Professor Izaäk brought it forward for the boy. Cass bunched it in his hand, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “biggest concern is your safety. I’ve some arrangements to make with Professor McGonagall - should you allow it, Headmistress - in regards to a few things we could do--”

“My safety? Why wouldn’t I be safe here? This is Hogwarts.” He frowns, his voice quiet and low. “I don’t want any arrangements. I wanna see my dad.” He says the last bit quietly, self-conscious now he’s noticed the aurors staring at him. “Can I see him? I’ve got.. There are things I’ve gotta…” He looks back at Prof Izaäk hoping for any kind of back up.

“We’ll sort that out for you, Cass, don’t worry.” The man said, giving him a reassuring nod.

The Slytherin was looking to him for that reassurance that they’d be able to do what needed to be done, when the Minister spoke again. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, Cassius—”

“There is no obligation, Mister Halestorm, to assume a regular school week. Should you wish to have the rest of the week absent from lessons, we would be happy to oblige...” The Scottish woman said clearly, having had rather enough of the Minister’s tone-deaf nonsense. She continued speaking, interrupting the Minister whenever he chose to open his mouth. Cass didn’t absorb most of it, honestly. She was talking about bereavement leave and who he could speak to, where he could go. A Professor being available to take him home, he could choose to bring a friend to support him, if their family gave permission. All he had to do was ask.

Cass nodded mutely, looking up and sniffling as he realised that despite being in a room full of people, he was completely and utterly alone. 

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

I think what I love the most about Cole is how much he reminds me of one of my special needs students: so benevolent and so kind through and through. My student died about two years ago now crossing the street, he was hit by a speeding driver. But I'd like to think if he were still here with us, I would have introduced Cole to him and we would bond over him. And maybe, just maybe, in those last six minutes of pain and confusion spent in the middle of the street, Cole was there with him.            

[toyourliking]

oh god someone drowned at the beach my friends and i are going to next week

great omen!

[phoenixflames12]

My uncle died yesterday after a lengthy battle with prostate cancer. 

I don’t know how to feel. What to feel. Relief that he died at home, in his own bed with my aunt by his side, or anger at such a vile disease claiming another life. 

[rilvys-blog]

alone again ( naturally ) — self para

It had been like a nightmare. A literal nightmare — numbness, drifting, and then in a moment, like he’d been drenched in cold water. Amy. Her body. His hand covered his mouth as he saw her floating, biting the inside so hard the skin broke. And then, bitterly, he was awake, smothered in the scent of decay and the chatter of radios and his father’s arm on his shoulder, leaning in, whispering. “She’s dead, son.” His hand burned on Riley’s shoulder as he shivered, blinking back tears. Standing in the shadow of his father, he couldn’t mourn his girlfriend. He couldn’t mourn his best friend. The man would kill him if he dared to cry.

In the months that he had worked for the station, there hadn’t been anything of the magnitude of this. Riley had: found four dogs, broken up seven barfights, intervened in two minor domestic issues, inspected vandalism and tracked down a seven year old who wandered into the family barn for a couple of hours. He had called in a death all of one time, and the man had had a heart attack. His eight-year-old daughter dialled 911 because she didn’t know what to do, and Riley took the call. He threw up, after seeing the body. And there he was, standing before a murder victim, his ex-girlfriend, no less. There was no nausea, no anger, just... hyperawareness. Not even numbness — though that would be a welcome alternative.

He was distinctly reminded of when he was a young child. He had been sent home for the day, because he was too disruptive in class. In reality, Riley was crawling out of his skin. It was a combination of all the worst things —— his mother had sent him to school in a wool sweater and scratchy jeans. He was doing arithmetic that he had already mastered, and the teacher had been shouting at him all week. He couldn’t focus, filled to the brim with anxiety, bouncing out of his seat and deeply ashamed of his every movement. His father picked him up in the cruiser, and brought him home. The man slapped him, and Riley felt every ridge of his palm, the pinpricks on his skin, the slightly-oily residue from his father’s hand. His father left him home alone, and Riley buried himself in comforters in his bed, plugging his ears, trying to pull himself from any stimulant. The world became too much, after his father’s hand met his skin — every thread in the carpet, the soft whirr of the air conditioner, the footsteps on the sidewalk outside. It enclosed on him, and Riley couldn’t breathe the rest of the day.

He felt that way, in that moment, when his father’s hand grasped his shoulder, and steered him in the direction of the body. The dead body. Of the woman who was supposed to be the love of his life.

It felt... almost poignant, how silent the crime scene was. There was the cop chatter, of course, and the sounds of the wilderness, and Riley couldn’t focus on a single external stimulant, but only one siren sounded. The only ambulance on the island, to his knowledge, coming to carry (his) Amy away. And it wasn’t just his high school sweetheart, to be carried away in the ambulance. It was every picture of his perfect picket-fence life. Every facet of what he was meant to be was inexplicably tied with Amy Woodward. As he had said to Jude earlier —— he was the quarterback, and she was the head cheerleader. They split up, for a while, but Riley came back. They would get back together, get married once Amy finished her degree. Two and a half kids, a golden retriever, a house a couple blocks away from his parents. He’d become Jimmy Pierce, 2.0, and Amy would be an improvement on the failed experiment that was his mother —— that was bringing someone different, an outsider, into Chegual. Even his father shone with pride, the first time he brought Amy home.

“I... figured, Dad. She didn’t have much of a chance, anyways. Missing much too long.” His voice was cracking, barely, and Riley could feel the burning-hot disappointment his father was shooting him, prickling across the back of his neck. Swallowing his emotions, he steeled himself. “We aren’t moving her before we record the crime scene, are we? I want to catch this monster, Sheriff. Also, who let the press know about this? What a mess, I’ll take care of ‘em, Pop.” Shifting out from his father’s grasp, he wiped his face, clearing the tears from his eyes in a single swipe — before anyone could catch him in his moment of weakness. If he kept moving, pushing forwards through the pain, he’d eventually shed his emotions. He’d move past this, and keep himself from falling into a bottomless pit of inaction and anguish. He’d just have to keep going. Find the killer, prosecute ‘em, find a new Amy, start over. That was a plan.

He just had to keep going. No time to linger on the death —— he had a killer to catch.

[marianomoreno]

I want to believe in life after death so much i try so hard and it is a comforting thought but I can't believe it for a second I just can't i can't believe in anything really and i mean thats just how i was raised and im fine with that i dont have like a need to believe in god or whatever but. I cant deal with death i just cant its not something i can handle? All i manage to do is push it off my mind for a while so i dont break down every night but still at least once a week it's there the fact that ill have to confront it more than once and theres just nothing i can do and im terrified im just terrified i wanna be ok with it i wanna believe in happiness eternal or reach a stage in life where i can truly accept it