#Heavy topics

[dailyadventureprompts]

Do the ethnostates inherent in major fantasy ever feel real weird to you? You’ve got elftopia (full of elves, where everyone speaks elf and worships the elf gods), orc-hold (full of orcs and maybe their slaves, where everyone speaks orc and worships the orc gods), and dwarfton (made by the dwarves! for the dwarves!).

You might have some cosmopolitan areas, usually human-dominant, but those are usually rare enough in-setting that they need to be pointed out separately. Is this just based on a misunderstanding of the medieval era, and the assumption that countries were all racially homogenous?

This has been bouncing around my brain the last little while. Do you have any thoughts on that? Is it just in my head?

I think what you've noticed is a quirk of derivative fantasy writing, which like a lot of hangups with the genre originates in people trying to crib Tolkien's work without really understanding what he was going for:

Though it contains a lot of detail, Tolkien's world is not grounded. It functions according a narrative logic that changes depending on what work in particular you're focusing on at the time (The Hobbit is a fairytale full of tricks and riddles, Lord of the Rings is a heroic epic, The Silmirilion is a legendary history).

One of the reasons the races are separate is to instill the feeling of wonder in the hobbits as POV characters for the reader, other folk live in far off places and are supposed to feel more legendary than our comparatively mundane friends from the shire. The Movies captured this well where going east in middle earth was like going back in time to a more and more mythologized past.

In real life, people don't stay static for thousands of years, no matter how long their people live. They meet, mingle, war and trade. Empires rise and fall creating shrapnel as they go, cultures adapt to a changing environment. This means that any geographic cross section you make is going to be a collage of different influences where uniformity is a glaring aberration.

What the bad Tolkien knockoffs did was take his image of a mythical world and tried to make it run in a realistic setting. Tolkien can say the subterranean dwarven kingdom of Erebor lasted for a thousand years without having to worry about birthrates or demographic shifts or the logistics of farming in a cave because he's writing the sort of story where those things don't matter. D&D and other properties like it however INSIST that their worlds are grounded and realistic but have to bend over backwards to keep things static and hegemonic.

Likewise contributing to the "ethnostate" feeling is early d&d (backbone of the fantasy genre that it is) being created by a bunch of White Midwestern Americans who were not only coming from a background of fantasy wargaming but were working during the depths of the coldwar. Hard borders and incompatible ideologies, cultural hegemony and intellectual isolation, a conception of the world that focused around antagonism between US and THEM. These were people born in the era of segregation for whom the idea of cultural and racial osmosis was alien, to the point where mingling between different fantasy races produced the "mongrelman" monster, natural pickpockets who combined the worst aspects of all their component parts, unwelcome in good society who were most often found as slaves.

This inability to appreciate cultural exchange is likewise why the central d&d pantheon has a ton of human gods with specific carveouts for other races (eventually supplemented with a bunch of race specific minor gods who are various riffs on the same thing). Rather than being universal ideals, the gods were seen as entities just as tribalistic as their followers.

[godjustkys]

hashira headcanons, pt. 1

★ INCLUDES: tomioka giyuu, rengoku kyojuro, shinobu kocho, uzui tengen, muichiro tokito, mitsuri kanroji, iguro obanai, sanemi shinazugawa, gyomei himejima.

★ TW: major character death, fatal injury, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood and pain, heavy angst, reader was close to character (romantic or platonic somewhat specified or implied, every relationship is different. If you want something that isn't here, requests are open.)

HASHIRA react to your DEATH.

TOMIOKA GIYUU;

- A demon's strength can always be underestimated. You were strong, strong enough to beat an upper moon. This demon was different, why was it having such an effect on you? Why did Tomioka, after beheading the demon, after such a drawn out fight, have to find you in a forest nearby, on the ground, your katana right next to you?

- Matter of fact, why weren't you moving at all? Why couldn't Tomioka hear you breathing? 'why, why why why?' were the only thoughts running through his head. He sauntered over to you, kneeling down and gently turning you over. Why did he, after successfully beheading a complicated demon, have to be met with the sight of your throat slit? Did you do it? Did the demon leave you like this? What happened.

- He sat there on his legs, staying as still as humanly possible, eyes not once leaving your bloody neck. “..[Name].” he managed to mutter out, his blinking getting excessive, shaking your body ever so slightly. Tomioka's breathing got erratic. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead to the chest of your lifeless body. His hand reached out, his fingers intertwining with yours. Tomioka stayed like that for a good minute, his breathing panicked and shaky, slowly getting heavier. He shook his head against your body, his eyes fluttering close. “No.. no no no, [Name].” he breathed out, tears pricking at his eyes. “What happened? Why-” he couldn't even finish his sentence as he started sobbing to the point of no return.

- His body slumped against yours, crying helplessly into your already cold chest. He stayed like that until Kocho found the two of you. He wouldn't let go of you, you were his after all. It took so much convincing from both Kocho and Tanjiro for him to let you go. Tanjiro stood there with Tomioka, his hands on the taller man's shoulders, comforting him. Kocho walked up to the calmer, yet still crying, hashira. “Tomioka,” she said gently, getting his attention. “Do you want his ring?” she asked cautiously, her voice soft. Tomioka looked at her, his eyes red, tears soaking his cheeks. He seemed to break more at her question. Right. Your ring. His and yours. Plans to get married were short-lived, weren't they? Tomioka shook his head slightly, leaning more into Tanjiro's touch. “Bury him with it.” He said quietly, lip quivering. “He's- my fiancé. He'll never be anything less than that.” Tomioka said. “I'll stay his forever, to the very end.” He muttered out, his head lowered.

RENGOKU KYOJURO;

- “[Name]! Let's go!” His loud voice called out. He was standing at the doors of your estate, waiting for you to come out. You had a mission together, your kasugai crow had informed you of that prior. “[Name]!” he called out for you once again. Still no answer, which was unusual.

- Having little to no patience, Rengoku opened the door swiftly, immediately stepping inside. The smile on his face faded and oh so quickly. A dead slayer, one of your comrades, in the middle of the room, bloody and- dead. His body sprawled out and torn apart. Rengoku furrowed his eyebrows, taking this as a warning. That slayer was a friend of yours, someone you trusted with your life, someone you confided in. Rengoku placed his hand on his katana's handle, getting into a fighting position. 'A demon had slipped through,' he thought. Then, he noticed you, all beaten and bloody with your back against the wall, hand pressing hard to the place where your heart was supposed to be.

- “[Name].” The way he said this was different. He seemed so much more serious and concerned as he walked over to you and kneeled, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder. You seemed to be in shock - eyes wide, bloody face. Jesus, you looked like a mess. You took quick and shallow breaths, your katana in your other hand on the ground. “What happened? You need to get medical attention, now.” He said firmly, eyes scanning you over for any other visible injuries. “He grazed my heart, I- won't get there quick enough..” you said breathlessly, still staring at nothing in particular.

- “Did you kill the demon?” Rengoku questioned, shifting in his position as if he was ready to pick you up and get you to Kocho. “There was no demon.” you answered quietly, your breathing getting quicker. “What? Did—” He didn't get to finish as you cut him off. “He was working for- for.. Kibutsuji. Human, my friend, working for the.. the damned enemy.” You breathed out, your voice getting significantly more strained and hoarse. Rengoku didn't respond to you. He moved his hands underneath you, picking you up.

- You immediately winced, letting go of your katana. He slowly and carefully stood up with you in his arms. “Kyojuro- I won't.. I won't make it. Let me rest- I want to.. stay- here.” You mumbled, shutting your eyes tightly. “Nonsense.” He responded to you strictly, the panicked expression on his face betraying his façade. You hissed out in pain, your body slumping in his hold. It didn't take very long for him to get you to Kocho.

- It still wasn't enough time. You died in his arms right after he got you into the medical estate. He was so close. He heard you babble and mumble words, but they weren't even coherent. Maybe they would've been if he hadn't been carrying you at such high speeds. The moment he placed you on the bed, your blood even staining his uniform, Kocho announced your death. Rengoku swallowed hard and he lowered his head, giving a small nod to Kocho in recognition to her words.

- “You were always right.” He said to you, or rather your headstone as he kneeled in front of your grave. “You said you wouldn't make it and you didn't.” he said quietly, a rather solemn expression on his face. He didn't even cry during your funeral, neither did he cry after hearing Kocho say that you're dead, neither did he cry seeing your lifeless body there, laying in the medical bed. “Couldn't you— hold out for.. a minute more?” he questioned, knowing he wouldn't get any answer. Tears started brimming in his eyes. “I had so much to say to you.” Rengoku said, his shoulders slumping. “The respect I have for the dead is unimaginable, but damn you.” His voice trembled. “Is this what I get for being a coward? I wanted to be with you, [Name], I wanted to be with you.” He spoke, looking at your name, engraved in stone. “I promise not to act cowardly anymore, I promise you. I just wanted to hold you without any fear, any shame. I'll do better, I'll be with you. I accept your confession, please. Don't- leave me here.”

SHINOBU KOCHO;

- You were simply sitting in the medical bed, at the estate. Kocho walked in, her facial expression a gentle smile, as always. It was always the exact fucking same. “Spare me the lecture, will you?” you said, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the end of your bed. Kocho pulled up a chair and sat right next to your bedside. “Lecture? You need a good beating.” She said in a threatening tone with that warm smile, something that didn't mix at all. “Spare me that as well, yeah?” You made eye contact with her, your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

- “Aoi told me your vitals were.. decent.” Kocho started, her hands resting on her knees. “I can't find a cure so you opt for suicide?” She questions, tilting her head to the side, almost in an innocent manner. “I have a few days left anyway, I didn't want to bother waiting.” You pointed out, huffing out a breath. “I have spent day and night studying you, [Name]. I don't know what's wrong with you or how to fix it. I told you that fighting demons makes your condition worse. I told you, multiple times, to retire. To live a longer life. And what do you do? Not only do you manage to go on more missions than anyone else, but you try to hang yourself? After I warned you of the consequences?”

- “It is my job. I have dedicated my whole life to slaying demons, it is what I do best. You think I'm throwing that away because I'm dying? I can't even sleep at night because the only thoughts I have are about how rough people somewhere are having it, how they're doing their best to fight off demons while sobbing and screaming, begging for their life. I'd rather get rid of more demons and die early than live a longer life in a world that is becoming dangerously close to being dominated by those creatures.” You argued, making eye contact with Kocho. As she was looking at you, her eyes drifted down to your neck, to the huge bruises littering it.

- “I lied. You have an hour, at most.” She blurted out, her eyes locked onto your face, her smile gone. You paused momentarily. “I figured. Your left eyebrow raises up a little when you lie, and I know damn well my vitals couldn't have been good.” You responded calmly, uncrossing your arms as you started playing with your fingers a little. Kocho's eyes widened slightly. Goddamn it.

- “I don't blame you for this, Kocho. I never did, I never would. You did your best, you saved me multiple times on different occasions and I'm thankful for that.” You said sincerely, your tone taking a more serious edge to it now. For a person who was about to die, you seemed undeniably calm. “May I have some time alone? Preferably an hour.” You added with a nod. Kocho hated you for that. She hated that you were dying and that you wanted to be alone. But she didn't question it. She stood up, putting the chair back. “You did good, [Name]. And I'm sorry for not being able to prolong your life just a little more.” That made you smile weakly. She was acting tough, but you knew she would miss you sooner or later.

- “If the others ask..” You started, making Kocho stop in her tracks as she was ready to leave the room. “Tell them that I have never been more proud of myself for being able to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.” You spoke, your voice getting significantly quieter. “Especially you, Kocho.” She nodded her head with that same smile, though it seemed more genuine. “Goodbye, [Name].” As soon as she walked out of that room, her facial expression was angry. Was she angry because she couldn't save you? Or was she angry that she was losing you? She wouldn't dare to cry, how could she? You always used to tell her that your death is inevitable. How can you cry over something you knew was going to happen?

- Kocho sat behind that door and waited, for a long time. Waited until she had to walk into your room and find your lifeless body. She dreaded it. She didn't want you to go. You were her best friend. Was losing someone always this hard? She didn't even notice as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She was hugging her knees, her back to the door. “Damn it, [Name].” Kocho muttered to herself. She had so much time to come to terms with your death, though she never did. She might've even believed that she could heal you, how stupid was that? “Don't go.” Her voice was lower than a whisper, strained and choked with emotion. As you were a hashira yourself, you would've heard what Kocho said. You didn't, your breathing stopped moments ago.

UZUI TENGEN;

- Uzui was a tough man. Strong, confident, trustworthy, brave, all the good stuff. He was rough around the edges but he was kind. Kind enough to acknowledge your grumpy self. You were strong as well, he could see that. Running up the ranks so quickly, racking up kills. When he had met you for the first time in Kocho's estate, he thought you were a bitch, honestly. Uzui himself was already healed up enough, walking out of the estate when you were brought in. You kept yelling and refusing the kakushi's help. “Let. Me. Go!” You said in a threatening tone. “Calm down. You're safe, they're gonna help you, idiot.” Uzui said with a teasing chuckle, stretching out his arms a little. “Oh shut up, you big head having asshol— hggghh—” you cut yourself off with a drawn out hiss. Yep. You insulted a hashira so quickly, without a single care in the world.

- Despite the extent of your injuries, a kakushi hit you. “Watch your mouth! He's a hashira, be nice!” She scolded you. Uzui thought that would elicit an apology of some sorts from you, after all hashira are what keep the whole corporation together. “A fuckin' bastard, that's what he is. Now get off of me!” What a loudmouth you were, huh.

- “You look like shit.” You muttered out, slapping Uzui awake. He had passed out momentarily after being sent through a couple of buildings, his head having hit a large bark of tree on the way. He blinked his dizziness away, looking up at you. “Demon's dead.” you calmed him down immediately, closing your eyes. “You killed it?” Uzui asked with a scoff, relaxing the moment you reassured him that the danger was gone. “Such a badass.” he teased, a big grin on his face. You sat down next to him, leaning your back against the wall. Uzui thought you were tired from the fight. “Damn right I am.” you answered, your voice slightly strained. Then, he heard a small groan coming from you.

- Uzui took that time of calmness to steady his breathing. He felt uneasy the moment you laid your head on his shoulder. “What's this? Did you fall asleep, you moron?” no answer from you. He pushed your head away in a slightly rough yet playful manner. Uzui's senses were overwhelmed by panic when your body just slumped forward, completely limp. “[Name]? Get up, you loser. We still gotta go back.” Even with his enhanced hearing he couldn't hear a single noise from you, you were dead quiet. “Hey.” He called out, putting his hand on your back and shaking your body slightly, urging you to wake up. Now he was really in a panic. He got onto his knees, his blinking getting frequent. Was he just overthinking this? You were always so quiet about everything, it would be no surprise if your breathing could barely be heard as you slept. He turned you over quickly, taking in the sight of your emotionless face for a moment. Nothing but dread filled his heart as he noticed the continuously pouring blood out of your injuries. The fucking gash in your stomach, where a vital point was supposed to be, bleeding the most of course.

- “Hey, woah woah woah, wait. [Name]?” He said, eyes flickering all over your figure. “What the hell?” Uzui mumbled to himself, immediately pressing his hand to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. His other hand went up to your neck, checking for a pulse. “No.” His eyes widened. Did you seriously, after sustaining a fatal injury, go searching for Uzui just to make sure he's okay? You could've gotten fixed up first. But no, now you were laying here, without a pulse, all bloody and beaten. You must've been in so much pain to walk to him. Did you bleed out already? Is there really no way to help you regain consciousness until the kakushi arrive? What did he have to do? Did he have to let go of the pressure to your wound and try to do CPR on you? But if he did, you would only lose more blood. Even if he let go of you to make a tourniquet, he would take too long. The risk o—

- “He's dead, Uzui-san.” Kocho's soft voice broke the train of Uzui's thoughts. He took in a small breath, looking at the woman in front of him. “What?” He asked as if he didn't hear what Kocho said. “[Last name] is dead. The injuries he sustained were too severe, he lost a significant amount of blood. There's a trail leading to you.” She elaborated, kneeling down next to you. “He's been poisoned as well,” Kocho turned your head to the other side, a small mark on your neck and purplish veins surrounded it. Uzui took both of his hands away from your body, his shoulders slumping down. “You mean to tell me that not only did he get rid of the demon that I, even a hashira, failed to and his life got taken for it?” He questioned, his tone turning sour. He was mad. If only he hadn't blacked out from a simple hit to the head, you wouldn't have lost your life. “You are not to blame, Uzui-san. It seems that a lot of his bleeding is caused by his previous, still unhealed wounds.”

- 'You bastard.' Uzui cursed you out in his mind, staring at you. You didn't like receiving help, let alone medical. You always told them you could do it yourself just as well and even when you were forced to, you managed to get away from them quickly. You never stayed past a day in the butterfly estate. Now you suffered the consequences. Uzui stood up with a groan, his hands clenching into fists as he looked up at the sky. “I hate his guts.” He said harshly. Though in reality, he loved you like a brother. It wasn't the first time the two of you went on a mission together. Despite your rough and outlandish attitude that pissed a lot of people off, you were always helping those in need. Uzui would say that you turned into mush the moment you saw a helpless little kid, which you denied every time. It was all lies, you loved people to the core and you would lay your life on the line for them every day without a second thought. That's what your job was after all. Uzui let out a shaky sigh of pure despair, shutting his eyes tight. You had managed to get close to him, somehow, even with neither of you really wanting or needing it. He just wished that you would've put yourself first in a life or death moment. You didn't. And now he had to deal with the loss of you, a friend, that understood him better than anyone else.

MUICHIRO TOKITO;

- Although it was pretty unlikely, you and Tokito were friends. Actually, the kakushi introduced the two of you as Tokito asked about you. Even though you would not see each other often, you, the couple kakushi and Tokito would hang out for a little after hashira meetings. The kakushi only stuck around per your request.

- Today was different though. The moment the hashira meeting ended, Tokito's eyes shot to the side, searching for the presence of his friends, you and the kakushi. He took a step forward, a bit thrown off. The three of you would always wait for him. Always. “What are you doing, Tokito-kun?” Kocho asked gently, taking a small step forward. Muichiro turned to look at her, his facial expression blank. “Nothing. I was just looking for [Last name].” He said simply, relaxing his posture. “Hm. Tokito-kun, you are aware of [Last name]'s passing, right?” She inquired softly. Every other hashira seemed to focus on their conversation, quieting down. Tokito blinked a couple times, processing the information. “No. He died?” He asked, turning his body to face Kocho fully.

- “He was found dead with a child in his arms. He sustained severe injuries and he bled out while protecting the kid. The amount of demons he encountered is unknown, yet at least. Unfortunately, despite his attempts, the kid passed away as well.” Kocho explained with a huff of breath. Tokito furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the ground. He didn't even know why he was so affected by it. You were a demon slayer, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But with a child in your arms? You gave your life for someone and it was all in vain because the kid passed away as well. He felt like your sacrifice was useless. He knew he couldn't blame you for trying, but he would rather have had you alive, right here, waiting for him. “Oh. That's unfortunate.” He answered to Kocho, walking away in the opposite direction of where you were supposed to be standing. He would've saved himself over that kid. Of course, it seemed selfish, but is wanting to live really that bad? Something to be ashamed of? Tokito, for some unknown reason, started cursing you out in his head. You were his friend, you had managed to break through his walls and get more out of him than just a short and sassy answer. He was mad at your sacrifice. Mad beyond belief. Tokito wanted to see you, to talk to you, to look in your eyes. But what could he do now? All he could do was wait for you, just like you had waited for him. Even though it seems like he would wait for nothing in particular. You were gone and there wasn't anything he could do to bring you, his friend, back.

MITSURI KANROJI;

- “[Name]!!” Kanroji squealed, her eyes widening in shock as she put her hands to her mouth. Oh my god. The disrespect was unbearable. That demon had the audacity to carve words into your skin, on your face, and hang you up like a canvas for a show?! “[Name], oh no! Hold on dear, I'll get you down! I'm so sorry!” She yelled, running to you immediately. Her eyes were already brimming with tears.

- She got you down pretty quick. You were alive, just barely. For now, at least. Kanroji gently settled you down, calling out for the kakushi. She held you in her arms, her hands craddling your head in a sweet manner. “Oh, [Name], what has it done to you?” She said in a quiet voice, her eyes flickering all over your face. It was contorted in pain, eyes shut tightly. “Mitsuri..” You mumbled, relaxing a little. You were safe now, safe in her arms. “They're coming to help you, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I should've gotten here sooner, I'm so so sorry [Name],” she sobbed quietly, softly rocking back and forth out of instinct. You wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to see her. She was the sweetest thing alive, you considered her your sister, you loved her like one.

- Everything hurt. Even though you tried looking at the most important person in your life, you couldn't. The pain was overwhelming your every sense and it was hard to take a simple breath. You were strong, but apparently you weren't strong enough. But you had the compassion and kindness to truly be an admirable demon slayer, that's all that mattered. You didn't even realize when you blacked out, the last thing you heard were sobs from Kanroji, who was desperately holding onto you as if the moment she loosened her hold, you would die. Such a pure soul, stained by the loss of a brother. A lot of the kakushi, who didn't even know you, cried for you, only because of how hard Mitsuri was crying for her brother.

- During the hashira meeting, Ubuyashiki mentioned you and sent Kanroji his condolences for the loss of you. She couldn't hold back, the tears spilling again. She muttered out a quiet apology for the emotions and thanked Ubuyashiki. It has barely been a day and you're consuming her every thought. All the different possibilities or outcomes that could've happened if only she had gotten there sooner. She blamed herself, truly. Kanroji knew you would've scolded the shit out of her for such thoughts, but what could she do, really? Your last words were her name. Her's. Kanroji never recovered. Never. You were the one who adored her for everything and she lost you due to her failure to arrive on time.

OBANAI IGURO;

- He doesn't know how he ended up here. To be quite honest, he wasn't really expecting to stand at your grave. Right, of course, you were a demon slayer, death is only bound to happen sooner with such a job. But by demons. Not suicide.

- Iguro swallowed hard, staring at your headstone. Why was he visiting your grave? You were only an annoying nuisance. An annoying nuisance he found when he was sent out as help on a complicated mission. The first thing he saw when he arrived was you, trembling a little, albeit all bloody and beaten to a pulp, standing tall with a katana in your hands. The demon was injured as well. It seems like the two of you were going at it for a while as the demon was regenerating oh so slowly. Iguro shook his head a little in disappointment and slayed the creature in a matter of seconds. When he was done, he thought about walking away immediately, but he spared you a glance. His eyes widened in realization right then and there. You weren't wearing the demon slayer corps uniform. You were a civilian who happened to pick up a katana. “What the hell?” He mumbled, clearly taken aback. A civilian, without a.. breathing style.. managed to hold out against a demon and injure it so much to the point where it'd lose its regeneration abilities? “Put that down. It ain't yours. You slice a demon's neck to kill it.” Iguro spoke harshly, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. His snake, Kaburamaru, hissed as if it was agreeing with its owner.

- “Oh!!” You dropped the katana immediately, listening to the other. “I didn't know!” You explained, putting your hands up in a surrender type of manner. Somehow, after that, you stuck to him. Like two peas in a pod except no matter what one did to get rid of the other, nothing worked. You were so persistent and eventually, he had you as his tsuguko. Serpent breathing was possibly the coolest thing you've ever encountered.

- You weren't a kid, but you weren't old either. You seemed excited about everything, you seemed to enjoy life despite everything you've been through, and god did Iguro admire that trait of yours. Not that he would ever admit that to you. Turns out he never will. The sight of your gravestone in your stead was making his heartbeat pick up. It wasn't right, that wasn't supposed to happen. What didn't help was that he was holding your letter, your suicide letter, dedicated to him, in his hands. Should he spare himself the discomfort and throw the letter out? Or would he have to entertain your stupidity even after your death? Jesus, no matter what he thought, he would never throw your letter away even if he didn't read it. You had become someone of significance in his life, although it wasn't for a long while.

- Against his better judgment, he had to know what you wanted to tell him, so he opened the letter quickly, as if he was running out of patience.

'I apologise, Obanai. I'm not even sure you're going to read this, but I hope you do.'

Everything was getting embarrassingly painful at the moment. Why would he continue reading? Fuck.

'I really do feel bad if you're upset with my passing, but I don't regret it. The happiness you saw was real though, especially with you. I thank you for your time training me. I was excited to have someone be patient with me, you made everything more bearable, you made the pain worth it. Even though you were a dick. I'm kidding, I was just as bad, wasn't I? A clingy little shit, that's what you called me, right? I appreciate it, it was funny. If you want to know why I did it, I'm sorry as I can't give you an answer. I don't know it myself, I don't know what's causing these feelings and thoughts. I know, stupid. I wasted your time, couldn't even be your successor. Please don't be mad at me, I did my best to hold out, to stay with you a little longer. Don't cry over me, I know how emotional you get. Thank you, Obanai.'

'What? You jerk.' Obanai thought as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Emotional"? Really? The cheekiness of you was shining through in this letter so well. Couldn't take anything seriously.

- He folded the letter back up, gently this time, and looked at your grave. He felt a little choked up, his blinking getting frequent as to not spill any tears. Why would he cry over you? Okay, no, he did miss you already. But he wouldn't cry. Iguro was a little pissed at you for not seeking help, but he couldn't blame you. He never reached out to you and asked you about your feelings. “Leaving us to fight as you enjoy yourself in the afterlife? Okay, you hypocrite. Have fun being by yourself.” He said, turning around and walking to the exit of the graveyard. “Little shit. Wasted my time. And energy. Stupid.” He continued, his hand that wasn't holding the letter clenching into a fist. “Dumbass. You didn't even master the first form, could've at least done that. And first name basis? You're bold.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. He believed in you a little too much.

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA;

- Sanemi was a hater through and through. Nothing ever satisfied him, he was constantly on edge, anger getting the better of him. And oh god did he loathe you. “What in the fuck's name are you doing?! Get outta here!” He yelled, glaring at you. He was in the forest, alone, training by cutting down bamboo. You had interrupted him as he noticed your presence. You were a stranger to him, so he hated that even more. “You're making a lot of noise.” You said firmly, putting your hands on your hips. “Oh god, leave me the fuck alone, pipsqueak. I'm training, I don't care. Walk away now, get on with your merry day.” He said harshly and dismissively, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the katana. “Stop being a bitch.” you answered, furrowing your eyebrows. He froze, before he slowly turned his head to look at you. Sanemi was a hashira, who the hell were you to tell him that? A legitimate tick mark appeared on his forehead as he shifted on his feet. “The hell did you say? You lookin' for a fight? You wanna fight, is that what this is?”

- The first meeting was rough. The others didn't go very well either. The rivalry between the two of you had grown quite a lot. He hated your lousy attitude, how you were so nonchalant about insulting someone of a higher rank, how much you talked, too. It was oftentimes that he would meet you after the hashira meetings. You were a friend of Uzui's, so you'd go there whenever you were free to talk to him. Sanemi couldn't help but make comments about you, striking up conversations that would eventually lead to verbal fights, sometimes even physical ones. What he noticed whenever the two of you argued was no matter how heated the argument itself would get, you never made a comment about his scars. When he first realised that, he might've felt his heart flutter. No way in hell would he admit that.

- Overtime Sanemi learned more about you through Uzui. Not that he'd ever ask directly. He would talk about something that would make Uzui bring you up. Smart move, to be honest. He started tolerating you when you cursed someone out purely because they were getting on your nerves. Actually, Sanemi started getting fond of you, you slowly started consuming his thoughts, your relationship seemed to improve. All of that, ruined. Ruined because you brought up Genya being Sanemi's brother, ruined because you lectured him on how to properly treat his sibling. Every ounce of tolerance he had gathered for you - gone. He hated everything about you now. There was nothing to like.

- After some time, Sanemi was called as back up. Apparently some demon slayers had encountered an upper moon or something. He got there quick, he didn't want any lives to go to waste. His rage was piling up, ready to channel it to fight the demon. Sanemi was beyond disappointed that when he arrived, the demon had left. No signs of it anywhere. He was walking calmly through the forest, still pissed off that he didn't get a fight. When he heard sobs and relentless crying, he got tense again. Maybe the demon didn't leave after all.

- There was no demon. Only a slayer, a friend of yours, holding your lifeless body in his arms, sobbing out apologies. The moment Sanemi realized it was your body that the lower rank was holding, he stiffened up, trying not to show his surprise. “Hey, let him go. The kakushi will arrive soon, they'll take care of it.” He said coldly, slowly making his way towards the poor guy. “No.. no I can't, I can't do it.” He cried, shaking his head urgently. His voice was high pitched and wobbly. 'Shit, it messed you up bad. Dumbass.' Sanemi thought, glancing down at your severe injuries. You were missing a leg, it was cut off right above the knee. “C'mon. He's dead, leave him already. He's not gonna wake up.” Sanemi tried convincing the other. Maybe himself as well. He wanted you to get up, as much as he.. hated you. “Don't be a fucking wimp. [Name] gave his life and you're sitting here, crying? Go do something to honour his memory.” He said with a scowl on his face. He should go do something to honour you as well. Why was he thinking like this? “Shut up already!” He yelled, making the other quiet down his sobs as his body trembled. Was he really telling the slayer to shut up, or was he yelling at himself for having such thoughts? He wasn't expecting you to go out so soon, especially not like this. He didn't want to look at you, at your calm and blank expression. He wanted to see that stupid grin of yours or that scowl. Anything was better than the skin of your face that had a slight purplish hue to it already. 'Cherish life, my ass. Doubt you cherished life as you were dying.' He thought, putting his hands on his hips. You had told him to cherish life during that last argument. Oh god, just the thought of you being in agony while dying made his heart ache. Sanemi was in complete and utter denial as he stared down at you, trying to remember what you looked like normally, not like this, not a corpse. He couldn't recall anything, nothing made this situation better. Was this sight really going to be his clearest memory of you?

GYOMEI HIMEJIMA;

- Gyomei didn't mind your company at all, honestly. Despite.. you being an ecstatic fanboy over him and his abilities, you were a pleasant presence for him to feel. You met him by accident, in the butterfly estate. The second you saw him, you recognized him. How couldn't you? A blind hashira, the strongest in the corps. There was no mistake about it, it was him alright. “OH!! OH MY GOD?!” You yelled, making Gyomei turn in your direction. It was obvious he was confused. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask if anything was wrong. You cut him off immediately. “HOLY SHIT!—”

- From that moment on, whenever you had free time you would find Gyomei and talk to him. About anything you possibly could. You admired him to no end and Gyomei was flattered. Hearing your voice, your excitement about you being able to speak with him made him feel warm inside. But because he wasn't used to that, he ignored it completely. A year or so after your first meeting, Gyomei was using his free time training. If he was being completely honest, he wanted you with him there, he wanted to hear your voice and feel your presence. His kasugai crow flew by, gawking out information. It knew how close the two of you had gotten. “KAW! [Last name] [Name] is dead! He didn't make it after slaying a demon! KAW!”

- Gyomei froze up slightly, pausing his training as he stood straight, his fists clenching subconsciously. “[Name]..” He mumbled lowly. “Oh [Name], I'll pray for you.” He said begrudgingly. It was unfortunate, truly. His feelings didn't even matter right now, a dull ache settling over his heart. That information hurt him, and it cut deep. He didn't let it show, thinking to himself that he'll deal with it later. When he hit the dummy again, he used such extensive force that he immediately broke it and shattered it to pieces. Gyomei clicked his tongue slightly, taking a small step back. He was used to listening to you speak for hours on end, so now, this suffocating silence, one that you would never be able to fill again, started to overwhelm him. He was used to being a rather stoic guy, taking losses properly and calmly, doing his best to maintain a stronger shell. But for some reason, the thought of never ever hearing your voice again, threw him off the rails. 'Anyone but you, damn it. I said anyone but you.' He thought, his face contorting to a clearly mad expression. Once, when his thoughts got out of hand and came up with unimaginable possibilities, he thought of your death. That's when he prayed that it would be anyone but you. Right, that could've been greedy and selfish, but that didn't bother him when it came to you. Your loss left his heart in pieces and he couldn't do anything but to fix it himself.

★ A/N: I'm so sorry for the unequal length of these!! I was running out of ideas fr. Also, I am aware that there aren't any rings to signify marriage in the taishou era, but you made yourself and giyuu one.

★ WORD COUNT: 6,3k (6,380)

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Okay wait so dream had a vision of the future kinda like what shattered dream had and tried to change the future is that what happened?

Dream: my eyelights Nightmare: the villagers are giving us a lot of stuff. it's nice. Dream: my eyelights. Nightmare: i like your new eyelights. Dream: please keep yours. Nightmare: …I'll try?

Villager: Dream, I need to talk to you. Dream: oh! is this about your dislike of my brother or your house burning down? i heard about it. that must've really sucked :) busy lately? Villager: uh- yeah. My sister was terribly injured in the fire, so we need apples for her recovery.

Villager: my mommy told me to give you this Dream: thank you, Charlie. tell your mom i said hi. Villager: it's a pie. Dream: thank you. Villager: she says your brother is a bad person and should be executed. i think i agree, 'cuz he's really scary. Dream: he's really nice. you should be nice to him. Villager: oh. okay! he's still really scary though.

Prophecy Nightmare: HEY. Dream: AAAAAA-

Villagers: "Are you okay?" "Dream, can I get an apple?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?" "Can I have an apple?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?"

Nightmare: are you gonna sleep tonight? Dream: no Nightmare: did i- do something wrong-? Dream: no Nightmare: are you okay? Dream: no Dream: yes

Prophecy Nightmare: LYING TO YOUR BRO? COLD. Dream: god damn it

[blue-phoria]

what it feels like some days

[reashot]

My Name Was Jaune...

My name was Jaune...

Someone who loved the rain.

Someone that liked to walk on the rainy street.

Someone that liked seeing the Rainbow.

Someone who always smiled and waved at you.

Someone whom you asked for direction.

Someone whom you thanked for their good deeds.

Someone quiet at your class.

Someone that was weak and was bullied often.

I was Someone whom you laughed at.

I was someone who followed and liked your post.

Someone who cried because of your jokes.

I was someone who lied to be a Huntsman.

I was Jaune. Someone you never cared about and that's okay.

I lived and died alone.

I was glad to vanish without troubling someone.

No one would remember me, but I will always remember you.

Because You Are Important.

Original: https://www.patreon.com/mimi_n

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

Deep Dark Sea

More like a vent comic that got waaaaaay too long and deep. Yes, Teen Aussie Drama lore.

[TW: abuse, suicide, death, asphyxiation, hallucination]

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Oh, Maker

"The humans are strange and graceful as they explore the garden, explore themselves, explore each other. The trouble is, the humans stare back, which makes him uncomfortable; there’s nothing particularly interesting about him. And, though he rarely admits it to himself, the humans make him lonely; he has no Other to explore." Or: how many times can you take a bath with your best friend before you kiss him?

Length: 57,034 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, At Home, Angst, Romance, Slow Burn

Triggers: None/ Religious Trauma themes

Read it here, fic by voluptatiscausa

*Minor Spoilers* I've had this fic bookmarked for months, I love this author and all the stories of theirs I've read. But my ADHD often has me piling on more without diving into what I already have saved. So, when I was about to begin the author's latest fic, I paused. I realized I needed to prioritize this story first, and appreciate it fully. And now, I want you to do the same!

This is a pre season 2 "through the ages" story, visiting some of the historical settings we're familiar with and adding new ones as well. We watch as the weight of the world hangs on Aziraphale and Crowley’s shoulders. The impossibility of alleviating human suffering, the pain of being abandoned by their Creator, their Mother, and the lingering desperation for her approval. So when they've burnt out, they turn to each other. They comfort each other with warm intimacy through baths, manicures, brushing each other's hair, each taking care of the other and showing us how holy love can be. It's gorgeous and heartbreaking all at once. Their love is so true, even if they have trouble believing they're worthy of being loved and desired. “It’s because love can’t be earned, sweetheart. It’s given.”

The beauty of fanfic is that it can exceed the canon. This is not just in character; to me it's more in character than the canon itself. The book and show are comedies; they don't have time to dive this deeply into their characters' motivations and histories. And, of course, that's not a bad thing, especially since it brought us all here. But when I read something like this, something that brings a real depth and understanding to the characters, I'm amazed. This isn’t the only fic I’ve felt this way about, but it’s a prime example of that feeling. It’s just that, when I read a story that specifically focuses on their entire 6,000 years together and all the history they’ve gone through, I get frustrated that those moments are played for laughs in the book/show. The Flood, the Crucifixion, the Spanish Inquisition all throw away lines that don’t stop to dive into the wealth of story that’s possible there. I get why it doesn’t linger, I do, but fic narratives are so much more interesting to me than what the canon alone can provide.

This is a deeply moving and powerful story. Full of musings on shame, desire, religious trauma, and the beauty of the world we live in. Life is a terrible and wonderful thing. While this is mostly safe for public, I really suggest making this an at home read. It's a bit heavier, something you want to be in the right headspace for, and it features very rich prose. Never dense or hard to follow, but very beautiful, and you'll want to give it your full attention. I realize I may have made this seem like full angst, but it’s not! There's some wonderful loving fluffy moments to be found as well. Be sure to check out the other works that belong in this series! They are devastatingly good as well. Pair with some fruit for the full effect!

Read it here, fic by voluptatiscausa

[nuggziwugsi]

WARNING HEAVY TOPICS

(HEAVY SUBSTANCE ABUSE AHEAD +18)

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Nugs sadly struggles with major emotional stress and does not like to share it with others, so opening up for them is very challenging- so they usually hide it with hard substances and it does more harm than good .....

But ya, felt like hitting deep and getting angsty and in a way it is almost a vent for me as I have experienced something like this once so I am sharing that feeling through this comic

(ITS A ROUGH DRAFT TOO RIGHT NOW)

[certifiedcallahanstan]

The memoir of a horny fangirl

chapter 2

Warnings: This is a pretty heavy chapter, it shows a really vulnerable side to Hazel and the shitty side of the reader. I had to get this chapter done, so the rest can be lighter and more *spicy*. The next chapter will get back to baseball hazel!!

This chapter contains: sa

It’s been a couple days since you had received the picture and you know you shouldn’t be upset, Hazel is a grown woman and is allowed to kiss whomever she wants, it’s not like you two are together anyways. That however doesn’t stop you from trying to avoid her.

P.J invites you to the coffee shop with Josie and Brittany to do quote on quote “studying” which really means she wants to talk to you all about her latest hook up.

Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting caught up in the conversation.

“and i mean it wasn’t a fucking normal sized strap, that shit was like- fucking xxl” P.J moves her hands at least a feet apart from eachother trying to demonstrate the size and josie scrunches up her nose.

“I don’t need to hear that P.J, you keep that to yourself” she huffs and you cover your mouth trying to stop a laugh from escaping.

For a brief moment, the weight of your emotions regarding Hazel and the photo fade into the background as you lose yourself in the conversation until eventually Brittany convinces everyone that we should probably study.

You pull out your notes adorned with doodles of different sea creatures and facts about them when you hear a familiar voice approach the table.

“Hey guys” the voice that belongs to the shaggy brunette starts “Josie told me you all were studying and that..” she looks at her phone reading the text “We are about to kill P.J, please come before one of us commits a felony”

P.J just responds with a huff a mutters something along the lines of “you all are just mad i get more hoes” as Hazel pulls out a chair and joins the group.

You scoot slightly more away from Hazel hoping nobody will notice. unfortunately these chairs are millenniums old and makes and obnoxious screeching noise

You cringe inwardly, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks as all eyes turn in your direction.

Hazel's gaze flickers briefly in your direction, her brow furrowing in confusion at the sudden noise.

"Sorry about that," you mumble, offering a sheepish smile as you try to play off the noise. "These chairs are... uh, not the most cooperative."

Everyone seems to accept that excuse as they get back to their previous tasks. You start shading in the sea creature you were previously drawing in your journal when you feel P.J looming over you.

“what the fuck knuckles is that” she says as she points at your drawing

you look down at a your notebook where you had draw what looks like a eel-shark hybrid

“it’s called a frilled shark” you start explaining as all eyes look at you “they get their name from the frilly appearance of their gill sets. In fact they’re one of the few sharks that eat their prey whole…”

You trail off awkwardly, realizing that you may have gone a bit overboard with your explanation when you see everyone blankly staring at you. Clearing your throat, you try to steer the conversation back on track.

"Anyway, um... yeah, it's just a cool creature I thought I'd draw," you finish lamely

“I think it’s sick”

you turn your head to the voice and see Hazel smiling at you “i mean a shark that moves like an eel?”

"Yeah, exactly!" you respond, a smile spreading across your face as you meet Hazel's gaze. "It's pretty fascinating how they've adapted to their environment."

fuck why does she have to be so damn irresistible.

your thoughts are cut off by the slamming of a text book and you see Brittany getting up “my brain feels all mushy, im going home to take a nap”

Josie nods, putting her computer in her back pack “i should probably get back to Isabel” and P.J mutters something about going to “fuck then duck” whatever that means.

Soon enough it’s just you and Hazel, you try to ignore the tension, but damn it’s so thick you could cut it with a knife.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching between you as you both seem lost in your own thoughts. You fidget nervously, unsure of what to say.

Finally, Hazel clears her throat, breaking the silence with a hesitant smile. "So... um, how have you been?" she asks, her voice soft and tentative.

You swallow, trying to push aside the swirling emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. "I've been okay," you reply, your voice slightly strained. "Just... you know, trying to stay busy with school and stuff."

and not making out with random red heads and getting chlamydia you add in your head.

Hazel nods, her gaze flickering briefly as she seems to search for the right words. "Yeah, I get that," she says quietly “hey um..have you been avoiding me? i’ve tried to text you but you haven’t answered and everytime i try to come up to you you walk the opposite direction”

your jaw clenches as you start putting everything in your shark printed back pack “what reason would i have to avoid you Hazel” your voice tinged with frustration and hurt.

she runs her ringed fingers through her hair and you try not to notice the prominent veins “that’s what i’m trying to figure out, did i do something?”

“not everything is about you callahan” you grunt out as you try to gather all your loose papers

“here let me help-“

“i don’t need your help” you shove her arm away and in the process her hand hits an open water bottle spilling water all over your notebook. the notebooks that has three years worth of research in it

A sense of panic washes over you as you scramble to salvage what you can, frantically wiping at the water with trembling hands. Hazel watches helplessly, her expression a mixture of concern and regret.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I was just trying to..."

You cut her off with a sharp gesture, your own frustration boiling over as you struggle to contain your emotions. "Just... leave me alone, Hazel," you mutter, your voice thick with emotion.

she steps back as her eyebrows knit together “this wouldn’t have happened if you just let me help. Maybe instead of pushing people away talk to them”

You can see the hurt etched in her features, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt tug at your conscience.

"I'm sorry, I just..." you begin, your voice catching in your throat as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. With a heavy sigh, you toss your notebook into the trash and sling your backpack over your shoulder

"I have to go," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you turn away, unable to face Hazel in that moment. With each step you take, the distance between you and Hazel grows, the ache of regret gnawing at your heart.

Hazel just presses her lips together and nods before you see the same red head from the photo calling her name in an annoying high pitched voice.

You watch in silence as Hazel hesitates, her eyes briefly searching yours for any sign of a response. Before you can gather your thoughts, she turns away, putting on a fake smile as the red-headed girl approaches.

"What's up, Becca?" she says, her tone polite but strained, the artificiality of her smile not escaping your notice.

you turn away, knowing that it's not your place to intervene in Hazel's personal life. And also if you stayed there someone would be getting punched in the face, and here’s a hint. it wasn’t going to be you.

—————————————

“Did you say sorry at least?” Isabel ask as you lay upside down on her bed, letting the blood flow rush to your head to try to forget about what Josie now calls “they great water incident” that happened last week

"Yeah, I did," you reply with a sigh, your voice muffled from your upside-down position. “kinda.. i dunno. I mean you should’ve seen the way that becky, bexar, what ever the fuck her name is held onto her”

P.J shoves a handful of chips into her mouth and shrugs “i say kill the bitch”

Josie tosses a pillow at her face and huffs “We already have one murderous charge against us, we don’t need another”

Isabel nods in agreement. "Exactly. We'll figure this out without resorting to murder,"

“fine” P.J huffs holding her hands in the air “but just know that i know people”

“mhmm” you hum as you launch yourself back into an upright position on the bed stealing chips from P.J’s bowl.

As the group starts debating whether han solo or darth vader would be better in bed, you can’t help but wonder at this exact moment what hazel is doing.

——————————————

Hazel sits on her bed in her apartment talking about how the frilled shark can unhinge their jaw and eat prey at least twice their size as the red head sits and stares at her.

Hazel has never been one for social cues, she sincerely honestly thought that Rebecca just needed a friend, and sure they made out at the party but in her defense her face looked similar to yours in the midst of her 6 shots.

So here they are in Hazels apartment, Hazel blabbering about the eel-shark abomination (that she most definitely didn’t spend five hours researching after finding out about it)

“Rebecca? did you hear what i said” she stops and tilts her head with wide eyes

Rebecca nods and turns to Hazel “mhm- yeah the shark is like- long or some shit”

“you seem distracted” the brunette mutters “and it’s not called a long shark it’s called a frilled shark because-“ her sentence is interrupted when she hears Rebecca let out a drawn out sigh and move closer to Hazel.

“Yeah that’s kinda gross Hazey and i’m bored so how about we have some fun…”

“i don’t know what you mean-“ hazel starts before the girl lifts her shirt off and suddenly Hazel realizes why this girl has been being so nice to her.

"I... I don't think that's a good idea," Hazel stammers, her voice tinged with unease as she shifts uncomfortably on the bed.

“come on baby” Rebecca whines as she crawls into an unwilling Hazels lap “I’ve heard how good you are in bed”

And it’s true, Hazel was amazing in bed and she has had her fair share of hookups, but usually she knows about them before.

"Rebecca, I... I really don't think this is a good idea," Hazel insists, her voice shaky as she gently tries to push Rebecca away. "I'm not interested in anything like that right now."

“shhh” Rebecca whispers out as she slams her lips against Hazels and suddenly everything seems too much, Rebecca’s lips are wet, the lights are too bright, the AC is too loud. Panic grips her as she struggles to push Rebecca away, her thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion.

"Stop," Hazel manages to choke out, her voice barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears. She pushes against Rebecca's chest with all her strength, her heart pounding with urgency.

Rebecca pulls back, frustration evident on her face. "What's wrong?" she demands, her voice tinged with irritation.

Hazel's chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her mind reeling with a flood of emotions. "I... I told you to stop," she says, her voice trembling

Rebecca's expression darkens, her features contorted with anger as she takes a step forward. "You're just playing hard to get,"

Hazel manages to push Rebecca off her lap and quickly stands up, putting some distance between them.

"I think it's best if you leave," she says firmly, her voice trembling slightly with the effort to maintain composure.

With a frustrated huff, Rebecca storms out of the room, leaving Hazel alone with her racing thoughts and pounding heart. As she sinks onto the bed she grabs her phone with shakey hands and presses your contact then the call button.

“Hey what’s up” your voice bellows out from Hazels phone

“Hey i don’t know what-“

“HAHA JK this is my voice mail, leave a message or don’t i don’t care” your voice interrupts and Hazel can’t help the tears that fall down her face

“Hey..i don’t know if you’ll see this but Rebecca was here and i thought we were just friends, i mean i know i kissed her but i was drunk and..anyways we were talking and-“ Hazels voice cracks “-and she climbed on me and i told her to get off but she didn’t and- and she kissed me and maybe it’s my fault but..i don’t know what the point of calling you is because i’m pretty sure you hate me. I dunno, i just needed to tell someone.”

She presses the hang up button and brings her knees to her chest letting out a sob. How could she have been so stupid? Flash backs of when her dad would buy her these new suits and buttons up because he knew you hated dresses, but then make her get dressed in front of him flashed back into her mind.

Despite her best efforts to push those memories aside, they continue to haunt her, casting a shadow over her as she cries herself eventually to sleep.

———————————

it’s not until two days later that you see the voice mail, you’re sitting in your biology class with your airpod in when you click the play button.

“What the fuck?!” you blurt out when it finishes and suddenly all eyes are on you.

You smile sheepishly as you gather all of your belongings and rush out of the classroom calling P.J

after three rings she answers with a “I’m talking to this really hot chick so this better be important”

“You remember when we said that we weren’t going to kill anyone anymore”

P.J hums “well YOU ALL said that, i never actually agreed to it”

“Yeah well…it’s time for some killing..or at least seriously maiming”

as you explained the situation to P.J, the last thing she said before she hung up was

“let’s go kick some leprechaun ass”

————————————

Okay so YOU didn’t kick some leprechaun ass, P.J insisted she could take Rebecca herself and you assuming it went well because as you were driving (well over the speed limit) to Hazels house you receive a message from P.J saying “i’m like 75% sure she’s still alive, anyways if police come questioning you, say a rabid bear attacked her”

You chose not to question her further.

You get to Hazels house and you take a deep breath, you’ve never been good at comforting people, usually you just pat their back and give them water. You assume that probably won’t work for this situation .

Taking a deep breath, you exit your car and make your way to Hazel's apartment. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the situation bearing down on you with each passing moment.

you knock on the door three times fast, two slow, that was your signature knock for her since middle school. As the door swings open, you're greeted by the sight of Hazel, her eyes red-rimmed from tears. Without a word, you pull her into a tight embrace, holding her close.

“y-you came-“ Hazel mutters out as you pull away and she wipes her eyes

“yeah of course haze, im sorry i didn’t see the voice mail till today”

Hazel nods, her expression grateful as she steps back, allowing you to enter her apartment. As you settle into the living room, Hazel gestures for you to take a seat on the couch beside her. You can sense her hesitancy, so you squeeze her hand and softly smile.

“you can talk to me about whatever, you know that right haze?”

Hazel meets your gaze, her eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions—vulnerability, fear, and a glimmer of hope. With a shaky breath, she begins to recount the events of that night, pouring out her heart and soul to you.

And all you saw was fucking red. How the fuck could someone do this to her Hazel, her sweet, beautiful, funny Hazel?

Your heart pounds in your chest as Hazel's words sink in, each one feeling like a blow to your own sense of justice. Anger simmers beneath the surface as you listen to the betrayal she endured, your grip on her hand tightening instinctively.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you meet Hazel's gaze with determination burning in your eyes. "Hazel, I am so sorry that you had to go through that," you say, your voice firm but gentle. "But I promise you, we will get through this together. I won't let anyone hurt you like that again."

Hazel coughs out a laugh and looks at you with wet eyes “That’s supposed to be my line”

You smile softly at her response, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest. "Well, consider it borrowed for now," you say, returning her gaze with sincerity. "Because I mean every word of it. I'm here for you, Hazel, no matter what."

In that moment, as you sit together in quiet solidarity, you know that your bond with Hazel runs deeper than words can express. And with that unspoken understanding, you both find solace in each other's presence.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D  is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so. 

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien. 

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up. 

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did. 

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.   

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists.   Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.  

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates. 

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract).  Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict. 

Raiders:  fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important. 

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time). 

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding.  Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse.  If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.  

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while.  Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one. 

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause.  To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it.  Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

[remscreams]

“why didn’t you say this to me when i was alive ?”

cw: university au, suguru x fem!reader, angst, mention of mental troubles, destructive behavior and death by su!cide.

IN WHICH… suguru vividly dreams of you, about all the things he should have told you when you were still beside him.

disclaimer: i am not romanticizing these topics and if you feel overwhelmed by the topic please do not interact with this post, i will make plenty of others but your safety comes first and it matters! also if you need to talk this or this can help! take care of yourself please!

SWEAT WAS pearling on his forehead, his expression looking hurtful even though he was asleep. He saw you again, your beautiful hair, your contagious smile that you used to hide all your sufferance.

HIS DREAM was horrifyingly vivid. You were seating on his huge bedroom, telling him how it sucks that it was so empty.

“Seriously, everything in your room is white. Looks like a hospital if you ask me,” you complained, chewing on some snacks he got for you both.

“Good thing i didn’t ask for y’r opinion smartass.”

SMARTASS USED to be how he called you, he was your academic rival and this time, you beat him on a test. Your rivalry wasn’t the toxic kind, it was more like a friendly one and you asked him to never pity you on it.

IF HE knew back then, that your scholarship depended on your results he would’ve let you have the first place. Yet you didn’t tell him anything and he found it out the hard way.

“Why did you hide your condition to me ?” He asked, untying his usual bun.

“What you mean ?” You smiled like you usually used to when a something that you wanted to hide got discovered, a nervous and static smile.

“The situation with your aunt.”

YOUR AUNT, or rather your father’s older sister adopted you when he died by a sudden heart attack. She didn’t loved you, neither did her husband who always had his disgusting eyes on you. But as she could not conceive kids, she was having you as her daughter.

THOUGHT YOU were only her daughter on other people’s watch. Inside of her house, you were treated more like a housekeeper than any other thing.

the smile falls down, your gaze slightly blurred by the tears forming. “Why would i tell that lame story of mine ?”

“Because i cared,” he says, holding an eye contact with you as his hands cupped your face. “I would’ve been here for you.”

YOUR SKIN under his hold was cold, and his hands were radiating warmth. Oh, how much would he give to the heavens to make this moment real.

HIS WISH was to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone, nor needed to be afraid. If only you told him, or if only he could have seen the distress signs coming from you, Suguru would have been there by your side.

“God, i feel so sorry…” he said, shaking his head, as his silky perfect hair were following the gesture.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

HE PAINTED you in his dream, as someone who wouldn’t like pity. Because that would have been the only reason for you to hide all the shit that was in your life.

YOU WERE a star, too bright and you exploded, unable to keep it all together. Home wasn’t home, working for school was making you overworked, insomnia was getting the last tiny bits of your sanity and last but not least, depression that made you hit the deep dark.

“I love you. I love you so much and i never fucking had the courage to tell you this. I remember all the good times that we had, the silly dances, the before exams sessions, the competition between us, and all those times when we almost kissed.” Suguru rambled, overwhelmed by the thought of losing you once again as he felt himself regaining consciousness.

“Why didn’t you say that to me when i was alive ?”

THE ONLY question that kept wandering in his mind, as your image was fading away from his mind. And it was one of those days, when he could only listen to the last voicemail that you sent to him before letting yourself drown in the river of the town.

ONCE MORE, he thought about how he missed you. But it was also one more reason to fight for his life and success. So at least, you would be proud of him.

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Cross seems very serious, does he ever let up sometimes? Are there any moments of him being more bubbly?

Ps, can I get a hug from horror? I feel like he’d give the best bear hug EVER!!!

Cross: I'm not serious. I'm numb. My universe's friends and family are dead. I don't know how to contact my old friend(s). Everything I ever knew is gone and it's been an absolute wreck trying to adjust to the new norm. Cross: …and now I can't even make a short walk, or shower, or stand for long- leaping and running is out of the question, something I used to be able to do like second nature. My whole right side hurts, and it randomly gets worse for no reasons. Cross: I can't even look at art supplies without flinching and feeling- bad? Like I'm- I don't know. It's stupid and frustrating. Cross: It was bad before, but it only used to be paint brushes and paints. Now it's paper and crayons and pencils and anything that can be used to draw. Cross: …i can't even get off this stupid floor. my leg hurts too much Cross: (..i don't want to go back to bandages everywhere, but it hurts.)

(Cross laughing a bit [amused] here)

(Cross being in a neutral mood [getting a gift] here)

(Cross in a happy/joking mood here)

[blue-phoria]

Reminder again that Radqueer is not about fictional stories, it is about real attractions to beings that cannot consent and trying to justify abuse, using queer and proship language.

Please do not fall for it.

There isn't much I can do as one person about the influx besides talking about it and block the tags. I've never felt as comfy with a community as the proship one, and I do not wish to see it be infected and prove the antis right.

[shadesofnavy]

Animatronic Keith AU Lore

This is obviously inspired by the FNF Animatronic Boyfriend mod, the 2011 remodeled design here was partially inspired by DJX Boyfriend's design

Shoutout to @xenoshadow13 for helping a LOT on the brainstorming for this one--this took months hah

2k+ words below

Warnings: Murder, violence, guns

There are no pairings here, only family

An apology to any Senpai-lovers, he's not the best here at all

This takes place back in time

Like his counterparts, in this AU of mine, Keith, or more widely known as The Boyfriend, was always known to have been an ambitious boy with big dreams. His affable and witty personality made him a well-liked fellow, and an insufferable nemesis. His passion for good food, love and music had always been a setback in his academic years, but upon graduating college they would prove to finally be an advantage to achieving his goals.

He would start with making his own music shortly after under the striking stage name of “The Boyfriend.” It would take a few years, and a lot of encouragement and help from his parents and friends, but after moving city to city, playing live and picking up gigs wherever he could, at some point he would finally find opportunities to reach more ears with the help of music producers and developers, opening to the doors of his fame. 

By the late 80s, The Boyfriend had been able to officially release many of his written songs with the proper equipment and modifications, his music ranging from rock love songs, deep and meaningful grunge, and funky rap. His broad choice of music genres would make him spread relatively fast, and he would reach the top charts with other popular bands and artists by the early 90s in no time.

At that time The Boyfriend would be considered a successful musician with multiple hit albums and a continuously growing fanbase. His music had been a success, but he still had another goal in mind. Food had always been an important part of his life, having lived with parents that both knew how to cook and passed down their skills to him. He wanted to make something out of it. Food always tastes better with good music and friends, and the three combined could make wonderful memories. Keith wanted something everyone could enjoy–family, friends, lovers, even a person alone. A spot for everyone to forget about problems for a moment and have a good time. What better way than to use his talents and money to make that possible? 

The Boyfriend’s Funkstaurant, named by yours truly, began its development in 1992. Keith had a friend for anything, in everything, and with his hefty income from his fame, it wasn’t excessively hard to afford the necessary equipment and permits. Employees were not at all tough to find in the busy city, and alongside his childhood anchor, Michael Hart, Keith founded the Boyfriend Entertainment, managed to find a suitable building in the city of Philadelphia, and within two years, the family entertainment restaurant would open its doors in 1994, a polished, well-managed business with good-natured staff, all whom were associated with The Boyfriend himself. 

The establishment would be an instant hit, and Boyfriend’s Funkstaurant would quickly become one of the top family restaurants around Philly. Keith would leave Michael as the manager in charge of the place while he continued to work on his music and concerts, as his own music producer was eager to have him perform across the country, and Keith couldn’t say no (literally). He would however come by quite frequently whenever the schedules weren’t tight, to either manage the place himself for a time, or to simply enjoy himself with his friends and family, even performing there in person. 

As four years passed, the restaurant held up successfully, better than ever. The music productivity was slowing down for Keith. Less concerts, more focus on The Boyfriend’s Funkstaurant. Michael decided to bring in a college friend as another manager who went by Jeffery Davis to help lessen the amount of work for him and Keith. Jeffery, who had worked as an employer for several other businesses, wasn’t as much of a friend with Keith as he was with Michael, who often spoke fondly of the singer, but they were mostly on good terms and genuinely respected each other enough for a steady companionship. It turned out Keith actually knew how to manage a job seriously, Jeffery realized, unlike his seemingly cocky and witty stage persona. He still had a humorous side of himself, even with work, and frankly enough it could annoy Jeffery sometimes, but at least the singer knew when it was time to drop the jokes. He had to admit, it did keep it from getting bland on the job.

Jeffery spent a lot of time at the establishment working. The place was almost always busy, especially during the weekends. He would occasionally bring his nine-year-old daughter Cherry at the time to look after her while she wasn’t at school. The girl had been extremely fascinated with the restaurant ever since her family took her there when the place first opened up when she was five years old. 

Keith would come to find himself growing fond of little Cherry. The girl would look up to him whenever she stuck around during his work hours when her dad brought her over, where the singer would take the time to show her around, and share his future plans to the curious youngster for the restaurant—one of these plans being the animatronic mascot he, Michael and some other crews were working on. 

He wanted to completely focus on his music career again now that Michael wouldn’t be left alone to manage the Funkstaraunt, this time going on tour internationally, and his producer was ecstatically encouraging him. But that would mean he needed to spend a lot of time away from The Boyfriend’s Funkstaurant, and since he was often around there entertaining customers and overall being the life of the party, his absence would be particularly hard on some folks, especially the youngest ones, which included Cherry. He wanted something that would somewhat fill the missing gap while he was gone. With the suggestions and creativity of his staff and some friends, the idea of the Boyfriend mascot was quickly turned into reality within a year.

In 1999, however, an old nemesis from Keith’s school years stopped by. None other than the crooked Stephan Lindberg, who also had a dream of soaring high in the music industry but never managed to do so. He one day stopped by the restaurant he had been hearing so much about for ages already, only because he was fed up on how the stupid blue-haired jerk who kept getting the girls from high school actually managed to make it so far—his music was on the radio, he was famous for it, he was on the top of the music industry, he somehow got a huge restaurant going, and it boiled Stephan’s blood. 

Bitter and blinded with jealousy and hate towards Keith for his fame and success, Stephan came up with a twisted scheme to get back at Keith when on one of his snitching visits at the restaurant he overheard two ladies fussing about how awfully close the singer was to Jeffery’s daughter and the security guard’s 12 year old son during a visit in the restaurant to observe its environment. A wicked idea came to mind when he overheard the ladies who he secretly taped on a voice recorder, and he’d later blackmail two associates to take pictures and frame Keith for having ulterior motives on the staffs’ children that were frequently at the restaurant. 

Using these photos, Stephan snuck to the establishment one night when there weren’t any workers besides Keith, Jeffery and a few other staff members, who were busy preparing the restaurant for Cherry’s tenth birthday the next day, and the reveal of the now finished Boyfriend animatronic mascot. He would approach Jeffery first, somewhat surprised to hear that the manager had heard about him from his coworker who at the time was taking a few days off. Stephan, even more angered, calmly informed Jeffery about his “worrying conclusions,” presenting him with the false evidence he had managed to fabricate with his associates—photos, voice tapes of the ladies who gave him the idea the other day, and even videos taken at an intentional misleading angle of Keith simply hugging Cherry.

Jeffery had heard about Stephan’s deceiving tactics and second-nature through Michael before, and he was well aware that Stephan was just a stranger to him, not someone he should lightly take his word for. However, the mention of his daughter’s name and Keith’s “supposed” evil intentions struck a nerve, and he became horrified, sick, and furious. Without a second thought he immediately jumped the gun and rushed over to confront Keith, who was understandably taken aback when Jeffery began to accuse him of Stephan’s lies. 

The situation escalated to a fight in which Jeffery initiated when Keith tried to defend himself, not believing anything the singer told him. Stephan watched with satisfaction from the sidelines as the few other staff members began to rush over in a panic. It would flatter when Keith took the upper hand and reluctantly struck Jeffery with a powerful uppercut, sending his manager back in stumble, and despite his constant desperate denials, Jeffery shook off the punch and pulled out a small handgun of his—one gifted by Keith himself for a birthday. Consumed with rage and unknowingly thrilling Stephan, he unloaded the pistol on Keith, six shots to the chest, nearly killing him. 

If he were any smarter, Stephan would’ve left and let the situation play out tragically. However, like the gluttonous fool he was, he decided to step in and reveal himself, taunting Jeffery for believing his false evidence, sneering over his naivety and shock. He planned to blackmail Jeffery, knowing the man’s reputation was now at stake for killing the famous singer. Jeffery wasn’t going to want to face the consequences for it, wasn’t he? 

Before he could go any further with his plot though, his associates who helped him fabricate the entire scenario had a change of heart upon witnessing how far Stephan had let things go, both knocking the crook who blackmailed them first and bonding his wrists and ankles. 

Jeffery was sick to his stomach and tremendously mortified as he stared down at Keith’s body. He knew he had committed a second-degree murder, and he would be taken to prison. He rightfully deserved to. He let a complete make him do something irreversible, all based on lies. Jeffery knew he belonged behind bars, but he panicked. He couldn’t go to jail. His family would hate him. His wife, his daughter—Lord his daughter would completely want his guts to rot in a cell if she ever knew about this. He decided, as much as his own actions pained him, he could not let it happen. 

The staff wanted to tell authorities of what really happened—they had the camera tapes, Stephan’s made up evidence, and the handgun, everything. But Jeffery, all too terrified for his own being, shot down each of their concerns, threatening them with blackmail and even dragging them into the mess. Deep down he knew it was wrong—it was sinful, but he couldn’t bring himself to plead guilty. At least, not while Cherry was still so young. None of the staff members wanted to follow, but they too didn’t want their lives ruined either because of this, so in the end they hushed up and remorsefully went along with it. 

The staff and Jeffery covered up the incident to make it look like Stephan himself had killed Keith. The body was stuffed into the Boyfriend animatronic to make it look like Stephan tried to hide the corpse for later disposal. Unbeknownst to them however, Keith was still conscious during all of that. His final moments were spent stuffed inside the cage of his own creation, agonized and paralyzed, until finally he drifted off. 

Any evidence of Jeffery having killed Keith himself was destroyed. Any tapes, Stephan’s fabricated plot, and fingerprints were cleared away and shredded. Jeffery took the camera footage that caught the event, but before deleting it all permanently, out of guilt he copied it all to a spare VHS tape. He was a coward, and he hid the tape for the longest time, praying no one would find it until after he died of old age. 

Keith’s death was reported the early morning after, the news first reaching his family’s and Michael’s ear, and his body was properly taken care of. Stephan would be charged for first-degree murder and sent to prison for life, the new fabricated story being him having shot Keith instead. The truth stayed between Jeffery, the few unfortunate staff members, Stephan’s two associates, and hidden deep in the animatronic mascot. 

That same day, the news of Keith’s death was kept away from Cherry, who was ecstatic for her birthday with her friends at the Funkstaraunt. Though it wouldn’t be long before the official reveal of the mascot that she would see on the news about what had happened the night before. 

The poor girl, who was given honors to pull down the sheet over her long awaited surprise, would instantly be overwhelmed with grief and horror, along with the other boys and girls around her who also looked up to the singer who brought them so much joy. What was supposed to be an amazing day turned out to be one of Cherry’s nightmares in a flash as she began to cry, staring up at the dreaded words on the tv up by the corner that sent thousands of questions running across her little mind.

BREAKING NEWS: KEITH BURLINGTON “THE BOYFRIEND” FOUND DEAD

Unbeknownst to everyone, Keith’s spirit, which had latched onto the mascot after having been stuffed inside it, began to stir as his distorted subconsciousness managed to recognize the anguished wails of his little friends. Desperate to help, he gained control over the shell for a time and began to move, the sheet falling off his new form and gaining the attention of the weeping children below. 

His mind, twisted and confused as to what happened, and what was happening, instead focused on the tear-stained faces of the little boys and girls below, all whom he knew. He focused on Cherry, and the little ginger-haired boy beside her, and knelt down to them, his mechanical joints working perfectly for the first time. 

Hey, it’s okay. I’m still here. 

The working staff at the time were confused as no one had yet activated the animatronic, but they let it slide when all of the children—and even the older ones—started to lighten up a bit with the mascot’s presence. There was something about it that made them feel as though it was really Keith… even though they all knew it wasn’t. Or, at least, believed. 

For the rest of the day Keith’s spirit managed to stay awake for Cherry. There was an irresistible tiredness bearing down his consciousness though, tempting him to shut down again. However he stayed awake until he was sure Cherry and the kids were okay. Only then did he let his mind slip into the deep alluring darkness, and the Boyfriend went back to performing its usual programming for the rest of Cherry’s childhood.

Fast forward to the year 2011, now 22 years old and freshly out of college, Cherry gets news that the restaurant’s mascot’s remodel has been finished, and with her new culinary degree, she decides to go back to the Boyfriend’s Funkstaruant to work as the lead cook. Miraculously it’s been holding up fairly well for all of this time, but Cherry knows that ever since Keith had died the Funkstaraunt’s original spark had gone with him. Wanting to bring that feeling again to the place, she believes it’s a good place to start her career. 

She’s surprised to see a few familiar faces back there. More so when she learns they have the same goals in mind, too. 

She’s certain they can bring back The Boyfriend’s Funkstaraunt’s former glory, just like Keith had when she was little. 

Little did she and her new coworkers know, however, that there was more to the restaurant than she had known it for. For starters, The Boyfriend animatronic itself. 

BOYFRIEND AND CO. COPYRIGHT 1999 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[k4ijynxx]

Im still on hiatus due to deppresion, however, i need to make a post about this.

Terrell Miller, a 4 year old black boy, died at the hands of a cop who is still free. He was held at gunpoint by a man who attacked his mother, and when the police arrived, he was used as a human shield to kill the man (the cop used him to shoot through the man, killing the child.) The man is free.

I want to make this short because again, i am in hiatus, but this needs to be talked about. This shit happens all the time and the fact that that excuse of a human gets to walk around the neighborhood that poor child lived in freely is disgustingly repulsive. Im not saying he deserves death, but he very much deserves something worse than a temporary prison sentence.

Even though the donation is disabled, here is the family’s gofundme for more info and overall more support. Please, reblog this, as im not seeing much about this and it infuriates me.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: the shame of wanting

"Aziraphale considered himself to be a hardworking, good angel. Robust and well-mannered, an affable colleague, a loyal child of God. He did his assignments, reported back to Heaven regularly, kept his clothes and corporation clean and prim, hardly ever had to call for maintenance. His quota was good, not the best, but satisfactory, and he did his part in the Ineffable Plan. On the inside, two newfound hungers ravaged him." A character study on Aziraphale trying to navigate the awakening of his bodily appetites and how they fit in with his angelhood.

Length: 2,893 words

AO3 Rating: Mature / Spice Level 🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, At Home, Character Study, Heavy Topics

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by black_earth

*Minor Spoilers* Oh, good Lord. So you probably know this author by their artwork, but I had no idea that they also write! So I had to devour this fic once I saw this posted. And it is just as exquisite as their artwork.

This is a short character study of Aziraphale's hunger. His desire to consume, touch, feel, and the shame he has for it. It made my skin burn, some of the lines here will rip you to shreds. It's so tactile and real. It perfectly encapsulates the feeling of being touch starved. Burning desperation to reach out, coupled with overwhelming fear and shame. I'm obsessed with this. It's both devastating and beautiful. Aziraphale is such a complex character, and this piece really gets at the heart of why I'm so fixated on him. It's a powerfully queer narrative, the Angel who denies himself life's greatest pleasures as he believes them to be dangerous and damned. His fear turning into paralyzing shame? Ugh I have to end this post and go reread this. It's just too good

Mostly safe for public, though there is some brief explicit content towards the end. However, you should be reading this at home with your full attention.

Read it here, fic by black_earth