#but ill add more for whoever moves in

[ssspringroll]

Apartment: 101 Sandy Run

Building features: Roof access

Status: VACANT

Make a sim for this space! General Real Estate Event Info

A cozy, budget-friendly 2-bedroom apartment. Perfect for roomies, a single parent, a small family, or even a single sim who dreams of turning that spare bedroom into a craft or workspace

E.T. Moneybags Inc. guarantees a personalized home renovation* for each tenant!

*minor renovations only. furnishings will be added, altered, or replaced to suit the lifestyle of the resident, but the apartment will not be completely gutted and remodeled for them. Things like personalized clutter, hobby or career-related items, and accommodations for occult type, family members, or pets.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! First of all, thank you so so so much for this blog. It's incredibly useful for both old and new fans.

Second, I was wondering if you could help me recommending fics in which Aziraphale and Crowley are exes who still love each other? You see, one of my favorite fics is Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots and it made me want to keep reading that trope.

Thank you in advance!

Hi and thanks! We have #getting back together and #reunion tags with loads of fics like this (including the one you've mentioned), so do check those out. Here are more fics to add to the collection...

you're what haunts me (now that you're away) by duri (M)

“I don’t understand.” Crowley says quietly. “Why aren’t I enough for you?” “Oh…” Aziraphale murmurs, coming up to him, cupping his jaw with a feather light grip. “Oh, Crowley. Don’t ever think that, of course you're enough. You're more than enough." Crowley yanks himself away, his eyes burning even more. It’s a foreign feeling and he sends a quick thanks down to whoever is in charge downstairs that his sunglasses are always on. He shudders to think what his eyes look like underneath. “Then why couldn’t you stay?” Or, Crowley tries to get used to life on his own, but it would be a lot easier if a certain angel would stop showing up.

Tumbling Down by katonline (E)

When summer finally rolls in and lays heavy on the South Downs, he realizes he’s lonely. While most demons are solitary creatures, Crowley is not; just another way he doesn’t fit the mold. Without thinking, he picks up his phone, meaning to call Aziraphale - wants to tell him all about the cottage, what he’s done, what he’s made. Pain brings him up short. He can’t call him - literally, because he never added Aziraphale's number to this new mobile; but it’s more than that, of course. The angel doesn’t want what Crowley aches to give, holding out to him in two shaking hands. You go too fast for me. So he racks his brain for an alternative, trying to come up with someone to share his accomplishments with. After a week, he lands on the witch. She, too, can make things grow. He dials the operator, asks for Tadfield, Jasmine Cottage. The witch answers. She doesn’t sound surprised. I’d love to come see what you’ve done with the place. Crowley, frustrated by Aziraphale's continued hesitance, attempts to make a new life for himself after the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't.

Seven Minutes (Years) in Heaven by LollipopCop (E)

Gabriel’s violet eyes widened, almost comically shocked, and then he smiled tightly. “Now, what’s this?” Crowley’s throat was dry, the flowers and chocolates suddenly heavy in his hands. “Um.” Grateful that the glasses hid his gaze, he looked to Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked ill with panic. Right. He’d have to save them both. It wouldn’t be the first time. First time from an archangel, but God loved to toy with him, didn’t She? He had to put his theological angst aside, because above all costs, Gabriel could not find out that Crowley was in a semi-relationship with his agent on earth; he would absolutely harm Aziraphale, and there was no way Crowley would let that happen. ~~ Inspired by the deleted scene of the bookshop's grand opening in episode 3. Aziraphale and Crowley start a relationship in Paris, 1793, but are torn apart.

Headlights by RoswellSmokingWoman (M)

Aziraphale made Crowley want to believe in the ineffability of a God that brought them together. Crowley made Aziraphale want to sacrifice his religion and worship their love instead. But that was then when love was enough to bring together two fools desperate to make it work. Three years after their divorce, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking. They've tried to move on, but neither can. It should be their anniversary, on New Year's Eve, but they're not together. They should be together. Aziraphale calls. He's not even sure whether Crowley will pick up, but he does. They see each other again for the first time in years, and it's a whirlwind. It's time to heal old wounds, put aside their differences, and make their relationship work again. They already know the alternative, and know they can't live like that anymore.

I Was Made For Lovin' You by midnightdragons (T)

Anthony Crowley is a big-shot stuntman, working on a movie alongside a new member of the industry, a cameraman named Aziraphale hopeful to create his own movie one day. The two's fling begins to evolve into something more, until there's an accident on set that leaves Crowley injured, and their relationship in shambles. Six years later, Crowley's called back for the first time since then -- to a movie that Aziraphale himself is directing. (An AU inspired by and with some dialogue taken from Ryan Gosling's The Fall Guy; stuntman!Crowley, director!Aziraphale.)

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

- Mod D

[1heartfanfics]

Would you do a story where Bucky doesn’t feel well, Steve isn’t around and Clint can tell so Clint helps Bucky through the rough parts of the illness till Steve comes back (platonic relationship not romantic)

Warning: depictions of vomit

Bucky isn't sure how long he's been slumped over the toilet when someone knocks on the bathroom door. He feels too weak to say anything, much less get up and open the door. Hopefully it's Steve, home from his mission, and he'll just come in when he gets no response.

"You alright in there?"

Bucky's heart sinks. It's not Steve. His head is still swimming from the last round of vomiting, and everything sounds far away, but he thinks it might be Barton.

There's another knock, then after a moment the door creaks open and knows that whoever it is has peaked their head in, but Bucky keeps his eyes closed.

"Woah, you are definitely not alright,"

Definitely Barton. Bucky cracks an eye open to see Clint crouching down next to him hesitantly. He has one hand held out toward Bucky, as if he wants to help but isn't sure if it's okay for him to do so.

"Sorry," Clint says, pulling his hand back, "I heard you getting sick from out in the hall and I know Steve isn't here so I just wanted to check on you and..." he trails off, unsure of what's allowed here. He doesn't know Bucky well, none of them do. Well, except for Steve of course.

Bucky tries to say 'it's okay', but what comes out is more of a grunt and a groan of discomfort. His stomach is still churning even though he hasn't brought up anything but stomach acid for the last couple of rounds.

"You want me to get you some water?" Clint asks.

Bucky manages to nod from his slumped position, head pillowed on his arm that's resting on the toilet seat. As much as he doesn't want to put anything in his stomach right now, he also knows that he's dehydrated and he needs something to throw up anyway.

Clint nods and disappears from the bathroom. As soon as he's gone though, he's back, which tells Bucky that he's losing time and maybe he's been in here even longer than he thought.

"Here, try a couple small sips," Clint says, holding the glass out as he crouches down beside Bucky again.

"Can't, ngh," Bucky mumbles, his tongue feeling like lead. He's so dizzy and hot. He doesn't think he can sit up.

"Oh jeez, alright. Bucky- Can I call you Bucky?" Clint asks, he knows that's what Steve calls him but he isn't sure if they're good enough friends for that. Bucky makes another small noise that Clint decides to take as a yes.

"Okay Bucky, is it alright if I touch you?" he asks.

"Hmm," Bucky hums, which Clint also hopes is a yes. He moves forward to wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders, gently pulling him back away from the toilet to lean against the wall.

"Here, small sips," Clint says, holding the glass up to Bucky's lips, which he now realizes are so incredibly dry. He takes a small sip of water, which feels nice in his mouth and throat, which are dry and raw from vomiting. It doesn't feel particularly nice when it hits his stomach though. He groans, slumping forward.

"Woah, alright big buy," Clint quickly sets the glass down and catches Bucky around the chest to keep him from face planting on the floor. He pushes him back against the wall.

They sit there silently for a few minutes, Bucky managing to keep the water down, before Clint gets him to try another sip. Then another.

It does help. Bucky doesn't feel quite so dizzy anymore, and he can hold his head up.

"How we doing?" Clint asks. He's moved to sit on the floor with Bucky, about a foot away to give him space but close enough to catch him if he pitches forward again.

"Lil bit better," Bucky mumbles, "Thanks," he adds, trying to give Barton a smile but it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Good, good. You, uh, want me to help you back to your room? So you can lay down?" he offers.

Bucky shakes his head. His head isn't spinning anymore but his stomach still is. He knows he isn't done.

"Not even with a bucket?" Clint tries again.

But Bucky shakes his head again. He doesn't trust himself enough to not puke all over his bed at this point and that would be even more humiliating than this already is.

"Alright," Clint sighs, "I'll be right back then," he adds, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. This time, Bucky is at least aware that time passes before he returns, carrying a pillow and an armful of blankets.

"Here, this way you can at least lay down in between rounds," Clint explains, laying a couple blankets down on the floor to form a makeshift bed and placing the pillow at one end.

Bucky blinks in surprise, not used to having anyone but Steve take care of him. It had been just them taking care of eachother for as long as he could remember.

"Go ahead, I'll cover you up with this one," Clint nods, gesturing to the blanket that still remains in his hand.

Silently, Bucky carefully maneuvers himself to lay down on the blanket, his arms shaking from the effort of lowering himself down. The feeling of his head hitting the cool pillow does feel amazing though, and then there's a blanket draped over him and a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles.

Bucky stiffens for a second, more surprised than anything.

"This okay?" Clint asks, his hand stilling.

"Mhm," Bucky hums in response. He honestly feels too sick to care at this moment. "Jus don' tell anyone but Steve about this," he adds with as much intensity as he can muster, which isn't much.

"My lips are sealed," Clint agrees, chuckling softly. Then he adds, "I'll stay till Steve gets here."

And as much as he'd never admit it out loud, Bucky is glad for that.

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

Stitches (Part II)

(Read Part I Here! used to be We Interrupt This Broadcast... changed the name because I feel like this fits better 😅)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). And again, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect some angst (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

"Almost ready" I said. "Basically finished" I said. Sorry y'all, the Chronic Illness Fairy struck. 😅 I will say this was my favorite part to write, but also the one I'm most uncertain about... bit more angst in this installment and I'm not much of an angst writer lol... but with Rosie in the mix (especially as a ler), angst never lasts long. 🥰

Also I changed the title. Hopefully it's not confusing that way... cuz without Part 1 this fic makes zero sense 😅

One last thing... I'm so happy y'all like Trudy! Was thinking about posting a lil sketch of her at some point (I need a new insomnia project now that this fic is done 😅). I've been having a truly awful few weeks on the anxiety front, so all the positive feedback on Part I has been quite literally making my days 💕

Hope you enjoy!!

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Ooh, you stubborn little bastard. You're still gonna refuse to laugh?" Rosie mutters.

Alastor doesn't dare try to speak. All he can manage is a defiant shake of his head.

"Look, my friend. If you 'don't mind a little tickling,' and getting all giggly is your specialty…" Rosie tweaks his bottom rib, eliciting a noise that comes just short of a squeak. "What, exactly, is the problem here?"

"I'm supposed to be in control!" he grinds out through his twitching grin.

"You are in control, sir." Trudy abruptly withdraws her hands, holding them up innocently. "You can tell me to stop at any time."

Alastor cringes. He was sorta hoping no one would point that out.

"Which is why I find it so fascinating that you haven't yet." A sly smirk creeps across Rosie's face.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I- I'm humoring you!"

"Humoring me?" Rosie tilts her head. "My dear, I hope you're not doing this just for my sake. If you don't want Trudy to check for further injury-"

"No, I do! O-on my terms!"

"This is on your terms."

"Yes, but-"

"In fact, you insisted."

He stumbles again, before mumbling another meager, "…to humor you!"

Trudy shoots her boss a disoriented look - but Rosie, as usual, is hearing her friend loud and clear.

"Alastor." Rosie rolls her eyes, gestures for Trudy to step aside, and scoots over to place a hand on his knee. "Adam is dead. Everyone in hell thinks you're either succumbing to your wounds in some remote gutter or hiding in whatever alternate dimension you just spent the last seven years. You're not even 'on air'." She leans in. "You can drop the act for a moment, if it's what you need."

That certainly hits the mark. For the first time, Alastor's smile falters - not completely dropping, but certainly losing much of the strained quality it's had since he arrived.

"I wish I could, my dear."

Encouraged, Rosie continues. "Well, what's stopping ya? As much as I love spending time with Alastor the Radio Demon… if you wanna take this opportunity to let out whoever's underneath that effervescent grin of yours, you know we wouldn't mind."

Alastor swallows - and for the first time in a decades, Rosie finds his expression difficult to read. "Rosie, I'm afraid I can't really..."

"I mean, you've been holding that same silly show-host-smile for years! Don't tell me you've never gotten tired of it!"

"It's sewn on, Rosie."

"…What?"

He hesitates. "Let's just say today wasn't the first time I've been, ah... stitched up." As he speaks, he gestures to his toothy grin. And for once, there's not a trace of distortion in his voice.

Rosie's dark eyes go wide when she realizes what he means. The cannibal overlord just stands there for a beat, in an uncharacteristic moment of shock.

But, being Rosie, she quickly recovers. "Well, so what?"

"I'm just saying, I'm afraid I can't really drop the act."

"Nonsense! Since when has your act had anything to do with your face?" Rosie flicks her hand, as if brushing the thought aside. "Who cares if you can't show genuine Alastor. I wanna hear him."

"But my microphone..."

"You're doing just fine without it."

Once again, this attempt at reassurance only makes Alastor look more disturbed. "Th-this can't be me!"

"...Well, no. This right here sure isn't the Alastor I know. But…"

Alastor is barely listening to her anymore. His broadcast persona has been his sole identity since he was alive. Now his radio tower has been reduced to rubble, his microphone snapped clean in half, even his carefully-styled clothing left in tatters…

If this is the Genuine Alastor he's now stuck with - panicked, stuttering, weak - he can't imagine how he'll ever be able to face the rest of hell…

But these racing thoughts are once again interrupted by nails tracing up his sides. A sharp yelp cuts the air as poor Alastor just about jumps out of his skin.

"…Perhaps I can offer a little help?" Rosie suggests gently, once she has his undivided (and adorably flustered) attention. "On your terms, of course?"

Alastor just gazes back at her for a long moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"I happen to know something about you that even you can't fake."

The radio demon hesitates… before heaving a sigh and, to Rosie's surprise, giving a small nod of consent.

She breaks into a brilliant (and frankly terrifying) smile.

Before Alastor can brace himself, Rosie's hands have both found his sides and begun working into his waist. Having just watched him squirm around under Trudy's thorough probing twice (and adored every second of it), she already has a pretty good idea of where his worst spots are.

Which is made abundantly clear by Alastor's reaction. Within seconds he's gone from still trying to hold it all in by habit, to giggling into his hands, to cackling hysterically.

And it's the kind of laughter she's spent the last seven years missing. This isn't the confident, taunting chuckle he brings out for battles or brushing off rivals; this is bright, helpless, occasionally hiccuping laughter, the kind that is nearly impossible for him to stop once he starts - and the kind she only has the privilege of hearing when something truly amuses him.

"You can't sew your laughter on," Rosie reminds him. "This is all yours."

Rosie's fingers creep up under his shirt to scribble on bare tummy, adding a couple new sweet spots to her mental catalogue. This technique brings out even more of her favorite little quirks: the way he bats playfully (and completely ineffectually) at her wrists; his repeated attempts to speak around his laughter that only result in frantic spurts of incomprehensible, giggle-laced gibberish.

As she traces her nails across his lower belly she also finds a tiiiny layer of unexpected pudge. Which probably shouldn't surprise her - he's been out of the battle scene for seven years, after all. All those deer carcasses have to go somewhere.

Regardless, she finds it terribly endearing for some reason... and the surge of affection translates into a corresponding surge in the intensity of Rosie's tickles.

"AHaha! Ro- Rosie!" he blurts, his voice jumping a full octave higher than normal. "Stop!!"

Rosie removes her hands immediately. "Stop?"

"Aha- ah- well- I mean, er…" He stumbles breathlessly, and gives a sheepish cough.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?"

Rosie resumes with a chuckle, reeling herself in just a little. "How 'bout we say... oh... 'enough,' if you really want me to quit?"

Of course, she has to go and say it out loud.

"M-more of a reflehex..." he admits reluctantly.

Alastor tosses a shaky thumbs-up at her, already too lost in his own giggles to manage a verbal reply.

And he's gotta admit… Rosie was absolutely right. He wouldn't stop her right now for all the souls in hell. There's a reason Alastor has the most recognizable evil cackle of any other overlord. He can't help but find dissolving into laughter as cathartic and exhilarating as always - even if this time, it's not at some poor soul's misfortune. It's a result of his best friend's affection for her darling deer demon.

"As fun as getting your soft little belly is," Rosie muses, pausing to let Alastor catch his breath for a moment, "I can't help but wonder if you're ticklish anywhere else…"

Alastor may be off the air, but Rosie can practically hear the screech of microphone feedback just by the look on his face. "….I plead the fifth."

"Have you considered his ears?" Trudy pipes up shyly. While she'd managed to restrain herself behind an impeccably professional bedside manner earlier, it had taken everything in her power not to stroke Alastor's ears when she'd been close enough to do so. They were just. so. fluffy.

"Ohhh, heavens…" Alastor, for his part, curls in on himself at the mere suggestion.

Rosie grins. "Hey, 'no' is always an option."

A long pause. Alastor can't believe he's considering this. But the sensation of being tickled, as unbearable as it is, does feel awfully pleasant… and it's been so long since anyone has dared to touch him…

And what else does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

"I suppose if you're… very gentle…"

"Are you aware that your ears are the softest thing in the nine circles?"

This stipulation ends up backfiring. When it comes to his ears, gentle is worse. So, so much worse.

Poor Alastor is too busy clutching his stomach and snickering madly into his sleeve to reply.

"I should know, I work in retail. These right here-" Rosie traces her fingers down the feathery-soft edges, sending the radio demon into a new round of hysterics. "-Would fetch a pretty penny."

"They're nohot for saHA-ale!!"

"Nooo, I should say not." Rosie's hapless victim lurches back into the cushions as her fingers find the fluffy region at the base of his ears. Even without the microphone, his cackles have no problem filling the room. "You're the only demon classy enough to wear them."

"And don' you - GAHaha! - f-forget it!" He's so drunk on laughter now that he's beginning to slur his words. His careful elocution has gone the same place as his steady tone, and lack of stutter.

Luckily, he's also far too drunk on laughter to care.

...Right about there, Rosie notices that the faint hum of radio static in the air is no longer just in her head.

He is laughing his heart out for the first time in weeks. Genuinely laughing for the first time in decades. And laughing completely for himself, for his own enjoyment, without need for intimidation or control or image or audience, for the first time since long before he died.

While Trudy typically can't say much for her self-preservation instinct, she's got enough of one to feel hesitant joining her boss in tickling the most powerful overlord in hell (outside the pretense of medical intervention, at least). So she just stands back, watching fondly as The Most Dangerous Overlord This Side of the Pentagram utterly destroys the deer demon.

...At least, until she notices a flicker of green light out of the corner of her eye. Lying forgotten on the end table, the splintered ends of Alastor's microphone are sparking and crackling like live wires.

The surgeon creeps over for a closer look, staring in fascination. And then - just as Rosie gets poor Alastor behind the ears and delivers a scribble to his tummy at the same time - she ever-so-gently nudges the fractured ends closer to one another.

To her surprise, a bright green spark arcs clear across the gap. For a fraction of a second, the whole staff radiates a flash of a familiar green glow.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Keep him laughing, Rosie," Trudy murmurs over her shoulder. It appears the Radio Demon's downfall will be nothing more than an intermission.

Thanks for being so patient with me y'all! Hope it was worth the wait 💕

💜- Cozy

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Struck by an Arrow from Eros

Author's note: Debut of Malum Caedo in Blueberry Pie

Summary: Malum is doing is duties- and heads from one place to another and spots a certain Serf and feels like some one just struck him in the chest near his hearts

Warning: Let me know if I need to add anything.

Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

You had heard of Sternguard Veterans, they are elite battle brothers who help cover their brothers when they have to do a strategic, fighting retreat.

Rare as it is for the Ultramarines to cede ground and not fight and win the day. But sometimes, for the good of the whole, a retreat is called in, and the Sternguard ensure that whoever it is that made the might 13th chapter retreat regrets it immensely.

You have heard that Sternguard veterans, once deployed on the battlefield have turn the tides from a fighting retreat to victory. You had heard of at least one Sternguard veteran who had fought and won against a planet full of Chaos.

That Sternguard veterna's name is Malum Caedo. He had finished a mission, that you had heard had been started by the previous Captain of the Second Company, Titus.

Who had been... acquired by the Inquisition for a while, but that had been before the Awakening of their Primarch. Who had insisted that all of the Sons of Guilliman who are Loyal be returned to Ultramar, to swear oaths to him.

You were but a mere Serf, but even you had heard that the Primach had gotten what he wanted. Even if some of the other factions in the Imperium had been loathe to give up the Sons of the 13th.

Sternguard Veteran Malum Caedo had been one such individual, or so you had heard. Because he survived what had been deemed unsurvivable.

The Inquisition demanding him, among others, a chapter of gleaming silver and blue helmed statues that watched them. Apparently, Primarch Guilliman did not like how many of his sons had been... ill-treated by the other factions for Surviving the battles with Chaos and still Loyal.

You are shaken from your thoughts when you hear the tromp of Ceramite on ship floors. You look around and spot the large for in blue and gold and you shift where you are to give the Lord Angel more room.

As you bow slightly to the Lord Angel, you continue to do your tasks. Humming to yourself softly, a song that you had been taught as a young child that helped the work go by faster.

You don't immediately notice that the Astarte has stopped moving and he is watching you. You feel something- a weight, lightly touching you.

You shiver and look around for the source, knowing that you aren't being squished by something you notice the Lord Angel watching you.

"Lord Angel," You say with a bow, "Is there something I can do to aid you?"

You notice his helmet has golden laurels gracing the crown of his head. That means an Honorable Veteran. Survivor of many battles, at least you think that's the case.

He is watching you, head tilted as he watches you and his voice rumbles out deep and smooth, "that song... it is familiar to me."

"If I bothered you with my humming, I apologize, Lord Angel," you reply nervously.

"Your voice is pleasant with music," Malum Caedo said, shaking his head a little. "It wasn't bothering me."

"Thank you for the compliment, Lord Angel," You reply flattered by the compliment.

Some of the Lord Angels could be highly temperamental, Lord Sicarius face coming to mind with his thunderous scowls and stinging words. You still don't know what it was that you had done to offe d the Illustrious Second Captain so.

Lord Ventris said that it was because his older brother, the Second Captain, Sicarius didn't know how to process... then he'd fade off and shake his head, and a spark of mischievous light would appear in his eyes, and the Lord Angel would scoop you up affectionately and nuzzle you. You would squeak and fluster at the affection, and then Captain Sicarius would stomp by and snarl at the younger Ultramarine for being uncouth.

[datlokibumtho]

EDIT: I said I'd add more, and so I shall. I swear, the more I rewatch it, the more abserdity crosses my mind. I forgot some, so I'll add those when I remember them.

Rewatching the Mugen Train Arc, and there are a few things I noticed that I shall now share with you. I will add more as I think of them.

▪︎Rengoku's mom is hot

▪︎You will never be able to convince me we didn't see Akaza's O Face during that final attack.

▪︎Why didn't Akaza just drag Rengoku along with him to escape? All that oomf he has, and you're telling me one dude is too heavy? Nezuko can carry someone easily while in baby mode and was strong enough to curbstomp Daki, and you're telling me Akaza, Upper Three, the fourth most powerful demon in existence can't drag one guy along for the ride while bailing? I'm calling that shit hard.

▪︎Tanjirou's VA knocked this shit out of the park.

▪︎I call bullshit that Rengoku didn't activate his Demon Slayer Mark during all that.

¤ Edit: I now know why that didn't happen, so nevermind this one.

▪︎While we're on the topic of Rengoku, can I just briefly express my confusion as to his dream of choice when Enmu put him to sleep? Out of everything he could have dreamed, all the scenarios his mind could have conjured up, he chose "that one time I did something extraordinary and my dad didn't give a shit" followed by any given day of the week. Tanjirou got his family back, Zenitsu got to spend time with the girl he loved, Inosuke got to do whatever the fuck that was...and Rengoku's got an alcoholic father who doesn't give a hair on a witch's tit if his kids live or die, a mom that's still dead from illness, and last Tuesday, the Tuesday before that, and the Tuesday before that, also known as his everyday life. Why? He could have had a father that was a presentable human being again, a mother that wasn't dead or ill, a happy life...and he bypassed all of that. Just. Fucking. Why.

¤Edit: upon further thought and some amateur analysis of his psyche, the dream probably revolved more around time with his brother, or his boundless optimism making him think every day is a gift or worth celebrating or special somehow. Or maybe he just has a really bad imagination.

▪︎Rengoku just gave Enmu his first brush with heartburn.

▪︎Look up the lyrics to Homura by LiSA, and I believe you will join me in saying fuck whoever chose the music. Why they gotta do that? Why?

▪︎Get you a man that's an absolute goober, a total badass, a complete and utter derp, a major sweetheart, and a super serious hot mess all at once. Get you a Flame Hashira. Get you Rengoku Kyoujurou.

▪︎"I'm a box lunch vendor" wasn't suspicious until he said it wasn't suspicious. Then it became suspicious.

▪︎Rengoku moving his ass like "Total Consentrstion Fuck You I'm A Hashira" speed mode activated. "Ecceleration Mode", for anyone that's up on older anine.

▪︎Pigtails runnin' her way through Rengokus dream world like the edge isn't invisible and she was at zero risk of slamming face first into it.

▪︎God damn, Tanjirou, right between the man-titties. Rude as fuck.

▪︎Tanjirou: smells blood in a snow storm, Muzan in the middle of Tokyo, identifies people by their scents after only meeting them once, can smell character traits

Rengoku: two cars down from them, chowing away at bento, unnoticed

Zenitsu: hears thing down to a celluar level and can figure out what something's species and intent are based solely of of their sounds of existsnce

Rengoku: two cars down from them, practically yelling "tasty" repeatedly, unnoticed

Inosuke: has super insane instincts and the ability to lock onto things miles away

Renkgoku: STILL just two cars down from them, living his best life with a crapton of bento, unnoticed

Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke: "Wonder where the Flame Hashira is."

▪︎Slasher demon: "No one's faster than me!"

The Other Speedy Stripy Boi Of The Mugrn Train Arc: "Destructive Death: Kick-Your-Ass-Faster-Than-The-Speed-Of-Sound-You-Scrub Type."

▪︎Rengoku's Dream World: sunshine, daisies, and fatherly rejection

Rengoku's Subconscious: flaming hellscape

Enmu's Lackey: "What the flip flap fuck is going on with this man?"

▪︎Enmu: shocked Zenitsu did anything while under his spell

The rest of us: "Yeah, it was always gonna go that way, chief."

BONUS: ORIGINAL WATCHTHROUGH THOUGHTS

▪︎My thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "Rengoku is a silly mans. Rengoku is kinda cool. Rengoku is utterly endearing. Rengoku is awesome. Rengoku is one BAMF. RENGOKU IS DEAD."

▪︎My almost simultaneous thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "I can't believe he dies, he's so amazing and wonderful and i love him. Ok, he dies in this fight, and now that i know the man, i instantly hate whoever did it. Oh no, he's HOT! My emotions are very mixed right now. My emotions are completely decided in their stance, and I am getting teary-eyed over yet another ficticious character."

▪︎My afterthoughts of my original watchthrough eons ago: "Akaza is the absolute worst, that pretty face, hot body and smooth af voice cannot change that. Wow, Muzan was mean to him after he did his damndest. My opinion can not change now that I have seen Senjurou, he is a wonderful little cinnamonroll, and Akaza must remain the worst. He can be terrible and still look good. I mean, are he and his utterly whorish waist and very lovely, somewhat delicately featured face really to blame or is Muzan or psychosis of some kind? Wow, that's a nice hourglass physique and horribly tragic backstory."

▪︎End conclusion from my original watchthrough eons ago: "My opinion of Rengoku has done a 180. I would die for Senjurou. I will probably never truly like Rengoku Shinjurou despite understanding that grief and disillusionment do strange things to people. Akaza is too hot, broken, and in a weird way endearing and lovable to hate. I loves me a tragic backstory and damaged man. I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP"

▪︎I had a new ship

[kipkoh]

Pre canon Hunter getting sick but having nobody to take care of him.

Also read on AO3.

Warning: Emotional Hurt/No Comfort

There was an orchestra inside his head; uncoordinated and cacophonic yet confident in their tone, pounding away at their instruments enough to oddly time their abuse of his skull with the sound of the rain hammering against the window.

Hunter wasn’t scared of stormy nights, per say, but there was something about being sick that made them feel more sinister. He was weak; vulnerable; pathetic; and the shadows cast by the unstable moonlight took advantage of that, wrapping around him and hugging his feeble form tightly enough to restrain him to his bed, making him barely able to move without them digging their claws into his skin to push him back down. The boiling rain set a putridness to the air that seeped through the cracks in his window and into his lungs, setting them ablaze as he continuously failed to choke out the smoke. The lightning outside was nauseating as it passed, bright and intrusive behind his closed eyelids at regular enough intervals to make falling asleep become a cumbersome task and ensuring he couldn’t just rest until the sickness finally subsided.

Sometimes, he wondered what dying felt like, and if it was much the same as to how being sick felt. As he lied there in bed, soaking the sheets with rolls of sweat and tears, he wondered if death might even be preferable. If he died, there would be no more suffering, no more pain, no more worry. If he died, he would never have to spend another miserable night in the still quiet of his bedroom, all alone with no one to feed him warm soup and tell him stories to keep his mind off the ice storm weathering through the veins beneath his skin despite the fact the room outside his diseased vessel felt just as boiling as the rain.

Sometimes, he envied kids in stories – kids with moms and dads who hugged them and kissed them and soothed their fevers. Sometimes, he imagined his mom, whoever she might have been, and wondered if she would have done those things for him had she gotten the chance. He imagined her wiping the sweat off his brow, or tucking him in, or lulling him to sleep like a baby with a soft, hummed lullaby that would reverberate around his head as he drifted off into a restful, dreamless sleep. He imagined her soft hands stroking his cheek and her lips on his forehead and could just almost trick himself into thinking it was real.

But Hunter didn’t have a mom. He had Belos, and Belos played a different role. Hunter understood that. The Emperor had been kind enough to take him in, shelter him, and feed him, but of course he couldn’t drop the weight of an entire empire on his shoulders in order to wipe snot from his nephew’s nose. That didn’t mean that Hunter didn’t sometimes wish he could. It didn’t mean there were never times when the door would crack open and he’d get his hopes up just for it to be dashed by yet another nameless scout bringing him his rations.

He’d tried once, and only once, to seek out his uncle’s comfort during a harsh bout of illness when he was much younger. He’d tiptoed across the castle and managed to evade the scouts somehow to slip into Belos’ room. He should have known better. It should have been obvious that disturbing the Emperor’s rest was disrespectful, especially for such a stupid and childish reason, and yet Hunter’s mind had been so clouded with thoughts and desires he had no right clinging to that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Of course Belos wasn’t just going to let him crawl into bed and cuddle with him. Of course the Emperor was just going to send Hunter back to his own room, albeit with a new, searing pain on his cheek to add to his discomfort.

Hunter couldn’t keep wishing for someone to baby him. He was the Golden Guard, for Titan’s sake! He was meant to be strong willed, powerful, and brave, but everytime he got the sniffles it was as if he’d regress into a child. He certainly felt that way now as he curled into a ball under his covers and hugged his plush toy crushingly against his chest, the poor thing absorbing the wettened emotions careening out of his eyes.

He had to be stronger. It wasn’t like he’d never been in pain before, so surely a small fever shouldn’t be able to render him useless, right? His body would fight it off and in the meantime, he just had to power though and prove he was as strong as Belos wanted him to be. That was why he couldn’t see the healers, nor take any potions, because if he battled the ailment on his own and came out the victor on the other side, then he could confidently say he was worthy of… whatever it was he was meant to be. And, if he wasn’t strong enough, well, he just supposed it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

He wanted to prove he wasn’t a child. Adults surely didn’t imagine their dead moms babying them over nothing more than a case of the sniffles. Adults could surely handle the waves of nausea and the blinding migraines with ease all on their own. Adults surely didn’t sob in agony over the hammer under their skin slowly chiseling away at their muscle. Adults surely didn’t hold tightly onto childhood toys for lack of other options in the hopes it would bring them even a minuscule amount of comfort.

In a fervent daze, Hunter sat up and forcefully chucked the stupid plush across the room, watching as it hit the wall and slid down to lie in a heap on the floor. He glared into its eyes until he realized what he’d done and immediately changed tone. He wasn’t sure if it was just the illness making his rational thought hazy, but he could’ve sworn the toy looked stricken by the abuse, and he understood the feeling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, choking out the words past strangled sobs as he wobbled out of bed to go pick up the toy. He dusted it off and carried it back to the bed, carefully tucking it in beside him as if he were its parent. At least one of them could have that.

If he allowed himself more expression, he wondered if he really wanted to be an adult after all. It would make Belos happy if he acted like one, and his maturity would surely mean respect and adoration from the scouts and Coven Heads. But why couldn’t he have any of that regardless? Why did he have to age beyond his years just to gain anyone’s approval? How was it fair he was forced to become a man before he’d ever even gotten the chance to be a boy?

There was yet another crack of thunder outside and he buried himself underneath his covers as if the thin fabric would do anything to protect him from the monsters cast by shadows on his walls. The night seemed never ending, carried on by the storm, and Hunter wondered if it was possible to get through it alone. He’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last, so it was impossible to say if he could persevere again. For all he knew, it was worse than just a mild bug and he’d somehow managed to catch a deadly illness. For all he knew, that night really would be his last.

Maybe he was more scared of death than he originally thought. He didn’t want to close his eyes and have to face the unknown. Would anyone even mourn him? Would Belos regret not taking the time to make sure he was okay? Or would no one care at all? After all, he was just some pathetic kid leaving behind no legacy whatsoever, sure to be replaced the second his body was extracted from his bed. 

He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to. He wanted someone, anyone, to acknowledge him – to help him like the child he really was. He wanted someone besides himself to care whether or not he survived.

He started humming to himself, low and out of tune, wishing he knew even a single lullaby. He’d never actually had someone sing him one, and so he just made up a tune and went with it, relaxing ever so slightly at the reverberations in his chest. He wondered what it would have been like to feel those vibrations from someone else as they hugged him close and swayed him to sleep. Would he still hear their voice in his dreams or feel their warmth wrap around him like a blanket in his sleep? 

Why did he have to be so alone?

He curled himself tighter into a ball and clenched his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the light of the storm. He forced himself to focus on his breathing instead of the itching of his flesh and prayed that the Titan would take mercy on him and allow him to recover. 

[bubsyleaf]

i gaf.. . . i gaf,,.... i'm interested in the bubeafy mental illness headcanons ^^

LETS FREAKING GO yay ^_^

DISCLAIMER to anyone reading this is very likely to have ooc parts, I heavily project onto these two and also have my own brain parasites that make everything That Deep, also if my phrasing and commentary is kinda nothing burger I’m sorry everyone in the world has to be nice to me forever

This will be ALL over the place with my thoughts so again .sorry

ANYWAYS bubble and leafy .ouughhhhh boy

headcanon I’ve been the most vocal about is bubble having avoidant personality disorder and leafy having hpd and bpd, while both experience paranoia but in different ways? If that makes sense??? same with their people-pleasing-ier.. ness

bubble avoids conflict resolution and glosses over anything wrong to spare relationships while leafy’s is convinced that she is The Nicest Person In Goiky so HOW could she have done anything wrong??? theres a lot that could be mentioned with bfb bubble and iance and match but i feel like other people smarter than me have explained it better

Okay Randomly Moving On Now- I think the thing that sets apart how and what their paranoia is about or why they try to stay in others good graces is the need for control.

Bubble has rarely had control, she was well regarded in freesmart and held that power of being a full-on member but not any kind of control. Also just how she has to live her life with being.a bubble😭 she rarely has control over her own death and in most cases she’s at the hands of whoever remembers and/or wants to recover her- also just viewer voting in general

leafy NEEDS control. She has to be the one making the decisions and (attempting, in her brain) to be the selfless one all the time + how her obsession with helping others is also (subconsciously imo) a means of control. It sounds bad when saying it out loud😭😭😭😭

this is where I like to go back to my thoughts of them in this constant state of emotional paralysis with eachother; that same keeping-the-peace ‘co-worker’ attitude in bfb. It slips through sometimes (bubbles comment on the sun towards leafy) but it’s so inconspicuous and rare that it doesn’t really register. Also leafy still lacks self awareness TBH 💔

realizing this just went into more of a relationship analysis OOPS my bad .i don’t know what else to add hope this is good enough 🫶

[blackknight-100]

Mahabharat AU: Draupadi does not accompany the Pandavas to the exile + Bonus Subhadra

This is a complementary piece to this Ramayan AU.

Warnings for mentions of harassment, and violence. Major character deaths. Possibly going to make you cry, but +1 should revive you.

1.

Yudhisthir may have lost everything – his kingdom, crown and coins – but he has not yet lost his thirst for justice. It is his folly that has brought this upon them, and he will not let Draupadi take the fall for it. Already once his royal wife has walked barefoot on rough paths, forsaking the joys of her father’s house for her husbands’ sake, and he will be damned before he allows that again. When Draupadi declares her intention to accompany them – and it shames him in a way no taunts or mockery of the Kaurava courtiers might – he turns to her and says, “No, you must stay.”

Yagyaseni, bless whoever named her so, flares up like the fires she was born from, and bares her teeth at him – a flash of lighting across midnight sky. “You would leave me here then, husband, at the mercy of your noble cousins?”

Krishna speaks before he can answer, “Take her, cousin, who knows what is on the way?” Then he smirks daringly and adds, “She is more than five of you put together, are you sure you want to court her wrath?”

Draupadi whacks him across the head. Yudhisthir wishes he had done that. But he will not be moved, and to his surprise, his mother touches his wife’s hand and murmurs, “Stay, little flame, do not leave me alone. Think of your children, of your sister-wives, and stay.”

Subhadra, only too happy at this turn of events, starts chattering about going to Dwarka, and Draupadi, never able to deny her best friend’s sister, reluctantly gives in. Yudhisthir is only glad he has won at least one match today.

2.

It occurs to them that Draupadi would have been the best keeper of the Akshaya Patra – for she had ever  diligently managed the Finances and Kitchens of Indraprastha, but she is not with them, so their eldest brother gives Bheema the vessel to keep. It is only meet, for when it comes to food, he is the most knowledgeable of them all. Every day, he takes care to serve his brothers and their companions and feeds himself last. Every day he wipes the dish clean, for hygiene is as important as the food itself, and Bheema will not have anyone ill under his charge.

Rishi Durvasa arrives with his proteges after he has finished his meal one afternoon, and Yudhisthir – after sending them for a bath – wrings his hands in dismay. “Oh, what shall we do now? How do we feed them?”

“The Akshaya Patra will give no more food, Jyestha,” he tells him, and Yudhisthir moans.

There is a knock on their window, and a peacock feather flashes outside.

“Madhav!” Arjuna exclaims, “Madhav is here. He has come to help us. Have faith yet, Jyestha.”

But the faith is for naught, for Krishna listens to their tale, leans over the empty pot, and shakes his head sorrowfully. “If only Krishnaa were here,” he laments, and Bheema heeds his words no more.

Durvasa returns from his bath and erupts in wrathful tirade, and flings at them a furious curse, “One day, you too shall be given hope, and have it snatched away.”

They bend their heads and listen, for what else is there to be done?

3.

Draupadi feels safest in her city in the hills, in her brothers’ arms, but her father has taught her of duty so she accompanies her twin to check on her mother-in-law. Not for the first time she wonders what keeps her there, in the shadows of the Kaurava’s might, cowering in her brother-in-law's house.

“This is my home,” Kunti says, when she asks her, “and they shall not drive me out of what my husband has left for me.” Draupadi supposes she can respect that.

Outside, Dhristadyumna stops to admire the flowers in the Prime Minister’s garden, ever flourishing under the ministrations of his gentle wife, and Draupadi leans against a tree to rest. A hand snatches at her waist, and before she can react, Jayadratha’s husky laugh tickles her hair. Draupadi does the only thing she can think of then – she screams.

Dhristadyumna barrels around the corner and throws himself at them. He is no match for most of the warriors who attend this court, but with Jayadratha he is equal.

Vidura comes running out of his house, and Jayadratha curses and flees, but not without leaving one last gift – a diagonal cut across her brother’s chest. Draupadi watches, and weeps.

.

.

Sahadeva has known premonitions all his life. Experience taught him to believe what they say, and this day, he knows, something ill befalls Panchali, miles away in the elephant city. But they are far away, and their hands are tied, and he must keep his silence, as he did all his life.

4.

Arjuna, now Brinnhala, loathes his- no, her new body, the strange vulnerability, the crawling sensation of lustful eyes trailing across her person as she walks. Nakula – now Granthika – teases her mercilessly, but calls himself her husband, reminds her to refer to herself as a woman, and wraps a loving arm around her when Keechak comes close.

It provides little obstacle for the burly man, for he is the King’s kin and hand, and there are few things he cannot possess. He grabs her when he comes to meet sweet Uttaraa and drags her uncomfortably close.

“Be mine,” he murmurs, hot and sultry, uncaring of his niece’s presence, and Brinnhala shudders. She suddenly has a lot more sympathy for her wife.

When she speaks of this to her brothers, Bheema bares his teeth and Sahadeva shuts his eyes in grief. But it is Nakula, sweet, dear brother that he is, who is the most furious. “I will kill him! I swear, I’ll kill him,” he seethes. “How dare he?”

Yudhisthir, however, shakes his head. “We can hardly afford to reveal ourselves now,” he says, sounding older than his years, “I am sorry, Arj- Brinnhala.”

She dips her head, and accepts that, for what else can she say?

5.

King Virat of Matsya is quietly apologetic when he hears of their true identities but politely refuses his aid. "We are a small kingdom, and can hardly afford to engage in family matters, Your Majesty,” he tells Yudhisthir. “Hastinapur has been ever friendly to us, and already we have offended them by hosting you."

Beside him, Keechak sneers. Perhaps it is the memory of Arjuna’s torment, but the Pandavas had hoped to have this kingdom's support, as if Keechak would ever owe them anything. Arjuna almost wishes Duryodhana would have attacked Matysa, for then perhaps they would have convinced this complacent king. Yudhisthir offers kind words and his farewells, and they leave Matsya with little to their name.

.

.

.

Drupada is eager to avenge his daughter's humiliation. For that they need an army, so the Pandavas call their potential allies to war. They arrive at Kurukshetra with their banners and standards, and Sahadeva sees Uncle Shalya in the Kaurava camp.

"I had hoped to have you fight with us," he cannot help but say, bitter and shamed. His uncle has no answer.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir is not quite sure what the Aacharya is planning. It seemed to him they were planning a chakravyuha before, but it never came to pass. Krishna says it is because Jayadratha has gained no boon. Yudhisthir cannot fathom what that means, but then, no one understands anything his cousin says.

“I have thought of a way to kill Drona,” Krishna tells him.

He had never thought of killing Drona, and he hears the plot with dismay. He has never lied in his life, and yet now he must utter words of deceit to the very person who taught him all he knew.

“It is not lying,” Krishna tells him. “It is not your fault if he does not hear.”

Yudhisthir clings to those words but hopes still that his teacher be spared.

They put it to action the following day. They are close, for already Drona has forsaken his weapons. Arjuna’s hands tremble, and Yudhisthir can sympathise. Dhristadyumna rushes forward and slices his throat. Somewhere close Jayadratha’s conch blows, and a single arrow strikes their commander’s head off his shoulders. Ashwatthama bears down upon them like Rudra come to earth. Krishna turns Arjuna’s chariot away. The rest of them follow, wondering what to tell their wife.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir gets away but Nakula’s day is far from over. Karna joins Ashwatthama as they chase him, and the King of Anga challenges him to a duel that he loses. He hopes he will be killed (for how could he live with such humiliation!?) but Karna – bloodied and vicious – laughs and mocks him, his lineage and his brother’s dharma, and leaves him sitting in the dust.

.

.

.

Arjuna grows weary of listening to Karna’s taunts sometime on the fifteenth day, and they finally face each other. The battle around them pauses, and the soldiers from either side give them a wide berth. Their enmity is inflammable, waiting for a spark to burst into conflagration. Both are eager to provide that spark, and no one wants to be in the way when the inevitable comes to pass.

He has to give it to Shalya, the man spews every imaginable insult at the King of Anga, and then some. He sees his ever-loathed adversary lift a simple arrow, and for a moment does not know what it is. Then, Ashwasena’s head appears at its tip, and for a moment, Arjuna panics. Madhav leans forward, forcing his chariot to sink to the ground, and the shot aimed at his neck takes off his diadem instead. Madhav gets down to lift the wheel, when Karna nocks another arrow. Arjuna stares. Surely, for all his rage, Karna would not attack him now? He had mocked Draupadi, true, but all others spoke of his kindness and generosity, and he had already spared his brothers.

But then he thinks of Vrishasena, and all his other sons they have killed, sees Karna lift his bow, and feels foolish for hoping otherwise.

(When he falls, he looks at his adversary standing tall and still, wrath upon his fair face like the sun on earth and is somehow reminded of Kunti after the dice game. ‘They could have been mother and son,’ he thinks, and then his eyes close, and he thinks no more.)

.

.

.

For all that has happened, and for all they have lost, Bheema cares only for this moment, when Dussashana lies dying at his feet, and he finally has a chance to fulfil his oath. “Call Panchali,” he tells his brothers – the ones that remain – his body thrumming with bloodlust.

Panchali comes upon the battlefield dark and fierce and beautiful. ‘If this is how the goddess Kaali had looked like,’ he thinks to himself, ‘then it is no wonder that Shiva lies at her feet.’

He rips open Dussashana’s chest (it is beautiful, but it hurts, oh how it hurts!) and lifts a handful of blood to pour down her open hair. Duryodhana is screaming, and Karna and Ashwatthama can barely hold him back. Panchali walks to him, her eyes alight, and Bheema finally sees some hope in this dire end.

And then, she stumbles and falls, mouth open in soundless cry. “Panchali,” he screams, and he hears his brothers echo his call. There is an arrow – a lonely, treacherous thing out of her back, and Bheema can think of only one who would do this.

“YOU COWARDLY SUTA!!” he roars, but Karna is as stunned as he is, and his bow is slung across his shoulders, his hands still restraining a struggling Duryodhana. He turns around wildly, and a raggedy soldier, a commoner, steps out from the Kaurava ranks, bow in hand.

“You killed a woman. Have you no honour?” Krishna speaks before anyone else can.

The man spits at his feet and then turns to spit at Duryodhana’s. When he speaks, his voice drips with scorn. "This is the witch for whom we must forsake home and hearth and come to war? Shame!"

Bheema sees red. 'She is no witch,' he wants to say. 'She is the kindest of us all.’

But Draupadi lies cold and lifeless, and her hair spread like starless sky mere feet away from her tormentor's blood, so he lunges forward and wraps his hands around the man’s neck, snaps it with a crack. The man falls, dead, and Bheema stands there, quiet and lost. Panchali is gone. Arjuna is no more. The throne is now a distant dream - more of a nightmare. Bheema sinks to his knees and weeps.

+1

Subhadra joins the exile

When Draupadi announces her intention to accompany them on their exile, Subhadra jumps up and begs to be taken along. No one wants her to come, but she will not be swayed, and never has any of the Pandavas or their Queen managed to deny her. So, with them she goes, much to Krishna’s dismay.

The two women share custody of the Akshaya Patra. When Durvasa comes to their place, it is Draupadi's day with the vessel. Already, she has eaten, and Yudhisthir frets. Subhadra pats his hand and goes out to meet the sages. There is but a small particle of food stuck to a corner, and when she places it upon Durvasa’s plate, Arjuna prepares himself to be cursed. But then Yogmaya's magic fills every plate with food, and there are singers and dancers in their forest glade, and the sages leave sated.

Things are bearable until Jayadratha comes to kidnap Draupadi one miserable morning. Subhadra stands before her sister-wife. When Dushala’s husband looks upon them, all he sees are grotesque rakshashis, and he runs all the way back to Hastinapur to tell tales of the company the Pandavas keep.

The Pandavas settle in Matsya for their year of exile in incognito, but all they need are new names, for somehow Draupadi and Subhadra are the commonest of women instead of their blue-blooded beauteous selves. It hardly stops Keechak, and when Bheema beats him to death, Subhadra runs her hands upon his bruised face and leaves it marred beyond recognition.

[drugstore-love]

So Long, London

so many people, including those who say they are fans dislike TTPD and refer to it as lazy but I find it to be some of Taylor's best work. I appreciate the metaphors and how vulnerable she is with the narrative. She's not hiding; it's poetry. It's about emotion and the musicality really does come second.

Here's my song by song break down of things that I enjoy (and don't like) about the album for my own future reference so that I do not cave into peer pressure and start to hate the album on principle. Here are my personal interpretations and what the songs mean for me.

In no particular order So Long, London:

This is a big one, the most Track 5 track five she's released in a while and I've seen a lot of commentary saying that it's not sad enough but honestly, those people must have never loved someone so much that you put everything you had into them and they were still so sad. Like take away all the nuance, mental illness, big words, reasoning whatever and at the end of the day it was a person who was just sad and nothing you could do would take them out of their emotions and everything you tried made them view you as the enemy. You were the opposition for not wanting to wallow, for wanting more and for wanting it with them. To the point where it really made you question yourself and the thought of leaving made you feel worse because then you'd just be like everyone else but then it ended anyway and you thought you'd feel better but you still feel awful because you really did love this person and want the partnership you dreamed of with them but they just couldn't see you past their sad....I'm rambling

also can we please touch on how the comma changes the phrase without even trying (thanks, angelica)

anyway, i like the way that this one starts, the dissonance makes it kinda haunting, and I imagine her voice as an echo bouncing around the empty house as she leaves a final time. Honestly, in my imagination she's not talking to anyone, her partner in this scenario isn't listening because they didn't listen during the relationship. Regardless of who ended it (unclear in the narrative) her partner blames her for the decline of this relationship; this song is her side for whoever will listen and I imagine it to be the empty house and the quiet car as she leaves their shared house a final time.

moving on, when the beat comes in with the trembling synth rhythm, it adds to the confusion for the listener. It makes us feel disoriented and like we're joining in on something during the climax. Another interpretation is that it's a a fast heartbeat, the bpm of the song is 160 which is a normal heartbeat for exciting situations like exercise, drug use, rollercoaster rides etc... I can also imagine it as the heartbeat of someone leaving a lover. This really ties the song into You're Losing Me which I would say is a prequel to this song in theme alone.

I'm always a fan of the way Aaron incorporates emotion into his accompaniments and what I really like about this is he let's Taylor's vocals really make up the melody and become the focus of the song and uses layering of her voice to create emphasis and drama instead of the music.

While extremely poetic I think the lyrics are rather straightforward in conveying just how much the author gave to this relationship and how they felt alone and used at the end so I just will highlight some key phrases here instead of simplifying the metaphor as previously done:

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away My spine split from carrying us up the hill Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had Did you think I had in me? Oh, the tragedy ...

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out I founded the club she's heard great things about I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

And you say I abandoned the ship But I was going down with it My white knuckle dying grip Holding tight to your quiet resentment

Every breath feels like rarest air When you're not sure if he wants to be there

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

And I'm just getting color back into my face I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

For so long, London Had a good run A moment of warm sun But I'm not the one So long, London Stitches undone Two graves, one gun You'll find someone ...

[thetoaddaddy]

Meme: questions. If (instead of dying) Jiraiya had passed out at the end of his final fight, and had been swept away by the current to wash ashore somewhere else... and missed the war... then what would he have done after his recovery period? Where would he go, what would he do?

Hmmmmmmmm i Really like this prompt/idea/question and it got my small brain juice going. So I think we can cover a few changing factors here.

Amnesia. Given ya boy got absolutely fucking wrecked its not a stretch to assume he gets amnesia. Shit ton of blood loss, severe trauma, got thrashed a bit in the water is bound to have some ill effects. I reckon he got washed up to farmland and thus taken in by a family. Despite having no memory he’s personality would be the same if a bit more naive now without his years of experience. He’d probably simply live life helping out the people who took him in. Of course its a struggle without an arm. Even if he recovers his memory some day I don’t think he’d go back. If he doesn’t I don’t think he’d go venture to discover who he was before with that gut feeling of he won’t like it. But it would be quite interesting to see his old friends’ reactions to stumbling across him(especially if he has 0 memory of them).

With all his memories in tact I think he’s haul his ass to the shore and tend to his wounds. Once he could move he’d find the nearest house and raid it for supplies. Given he’s half dead he’d probably reluctantly let whoever caught him being a goblin stealing their first aid take care of him until he’s well enough. Still I think he’d at least repay his debt for their help before moving on. Idk if he’d really go back. He has an opportunity here. He can live a peaceful life. It’s without anyone he loves sure but he figures they’ll be just fine without him. He’d settle somewhere quaint, remote, and quiet. He’d let go of his old life, chalking it up to they’re fine without him and he didn’t really add much while he was there anyhow. Again interesting if Naruto or someone stumbles across him and he’s got like a whole ass family and new life he built. He didn’t pick them after all and I think Naruto and/or Tsunade would take it really hard.

[napsaps-archive]

Hehehe just for you Ill give you a happy ending to this story :3 enjoy!

Its a few years after that faithful class and a few months after you graduate. But no matter how hard you try, you couldnt get that southern beauty out of your head. You tried your luck when applying for other classes, but your schedule never seemed to line up. Asking around didnt really help either, she didnt live on campus and wasnt particularly close to the people you hang out. Whatever, it wasnt a big deal! Its not like she haunts your daydreams when you should be paying attention in class and back in your room while youre sleeping. Its ok, really.

Anyways, you had the most exhausting week youve had since graduating, so you decided to treat yourself to your favorite coffee shop/bookstore. Its been awhile since youve been there. Putting on your most comfortable but still cute outfit, you head out of your apartment and set out.

Once you arrived, you got hit with the bitter coffee smell and the soothing jazz playing on the speakers. Its wasnt terribly busy, but there was still a decent line for the register. So much for an easy day. You sighed and made your way to the back of the line. You couldnt see who was manning the register but you could tell it was definitely someone newer cause usually it goes a little faster with seasoned workers. No big deal tho, you'll be sure to tip them a little extra for having to deal with customers all day.Slowly but surely, you made your way up to the register counter. You already had your order in mind, so there was no need to look up at the menu. So that left you being face to face with the cashier. Who had a...familiar face. You couldnt pin out how and where, but she looked so familiar. Gorgeous brown hair pulled back behind her cap, beautiful light green eyes, full lips that had a shine from gloss, and perfect manicured nails on top of her tablet. All in all, one of the most beautiful girls youve ever seen. But where have you seen her?

"What can I get started for you, sweetheart?"

Just from hearing her voice, all of it came rushing back to you. The biology class, being paired up and initially dreading it, fearing she would be another case of dropping all the work into you while still getting credit, actually turning out to be one of the nicest people you ever met. The girl that plagued your mind for months even after the class ended. The one you were too nervous to talk to and regretted that you missed your chance. Now shes here standing not even a foot away from you.

"Uh..you on, doll? Youre holding up the line."

Quickly breaking out of your thoughts and yelping out your order, you handed her some cash and sped walked to a empty table before groaning into your hands. Of course you had to embarrass yourself in front of her and the entire shop. Goddammit, why cant things go your way?

Eventually, your name was called from the front and you stood up to grab your cup. You took a sip and, wow. It was perfect, exactly how you liked it. Kudos to whoever made it. Lowering your cup, you noticed more writing next to your name. Confused, you turned the cup around to read what it said.

'I thought I remembered you from somewhere! LTNS cutie! Maybe we can catch up sometime? ;) xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Your cheeks burned up as you looked over at the workers counter. The two of you made eye contact and she gave you a quick wink before moving on to help her customer. Butterflies fluttered in your chest and your cheeks burned hotter. But before you could forget, you made sure to add the number to your contacts list for later.

Maybe some good came out of all this after all.

immgoinggsto theoww up shes everything to me

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 14 - Clear

Minor Endwalker spoilers. Sort of continuation of this piece Once bitten, twice shy

You don't need to have read the other piece but it adds a little bit of context I guess.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thancred paced around the small inn room as Urianger tended to Samara, his jaw clenching and fingers digging into the leather of his coat every time he heard her cry out as the elezen tried to purge the remaining poison from her body. 

It was a wicked poison they could not easily remedy without knowing precisely what it was. Magical purification was their only option, but that came with the downside of being a more painful treatment. Whereas most assumed healing magics were always kind to the body, it could not be further from the truth when it came to poisons. Forcing aether into a body to purge a toxin from every ilm of tissue was neither pleasant for the practitioner nor the patient. 

After a torturous amount of time, the flow of Urianger's aether slowed, the treatment coming to an end. Samara lay twitching on the bed, faint whimpers and sounds of discomfort mingling with her shallow but even breathing. 

"I have done all I can. She must needs be watched for any signs of decline. Should the night pass without incident, she will be beyond the worst of it." With a weary sigh, Urianger sat down on the small stool by the bedside as Thancred made his way over. "'Tis fortunate you were so swift in your rescue. Had she been left to the mercy of the poison for much longer, I dare not consider the consequences." 

"Yet not swift enough to prevent this from happening to begin with. Clearly, there are some voids in my information network. There was nothing, not even a whisper, of any ill will towards Samara." he pulled out his water canteen, offering it to Urianger while he kept his gaze on the Auri woman.

"An attack of opportunity?" questioned Urianger as he accepted the canteen, greedily drinking the contents. 

"Perhaps..."

Finishing the canteen in one swift go, Urianger glanced up towards Thancred, already aware the elder Hyur was plotting something. "I can tell from thine countenance you wish to take action. I would counsel caution lest we be removed from the city before our friend is fully recovered." 

"Whoever is behind this will likely not give up on their prize. They will prevent us from leaving the city. Given there were Samurai with the group trying to capture her, I imagine the Sekiseigumi are already on the payroll of the person responsible."

"Then what does thou suggest?"

"The moment Samara can be moved, we take her to the Sharlayan embassy. It is the only place in Kugane she will be safe. Not even the most arrogant Hingan Lords would dare cause a diplomatic incident. Once she is there...I will take care of the problem." 

"Thou realises the protection afforded by the embassy does not allow us to conduct ourselves as we please. Should thou be caught-"

"Caught? Me? Come now, Urianger."

"I am being most serious, Thancred. Scion or not, we cannot act with impunity." 

"I know, and under normal circumstances, I would not elect myself to be judge, jury and, if needs be, executioner. But there is a present and clear threat that must needs be dealt with. If they are targeting Samara, it is entirely possible they will target any or all of us."

"And were anyone else the victim, I would believe thine words were born purely out of concern and pragmatism, yet we both know that is a half-truth at best. Retribution is unbecoming of you."

Thancred sighed, pulling the sleeves of his white coat free from his gloves before taking it off and laying it over Samara, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as the Auri woman curled up beneath it. 

He ran his fingers gently through her tangled mess of hair both to soothe her as well as himself. "It has nothing to do with revenge. I-...we have come so close to losing her so many times, and each time, there was nothing I could do." 

"When she returned to us on the Ragnarok, her body broken and bleeding with only the faintest flicker of life...I could only watch, wait and pray to every God in creation. I was useless. Powerless. But here...? I can do something here, Urianger. I can protect her." 

"Even if thine act of devotion ends with thou stained in blood and shackled in a cell? 

"It would not be the first time..."

Thancred moved away from the bed and over towards his travel bag, pulling out a long red scarf that would easily hide his face among the crowds of Kugane. 

"I've failed too many people, Urianger. I've failed her too many times. I will not fail her again."

Thancred then collected a pair of daggers from his bag, ones he had not used in ages but still carried out of habit. No further words were spoken between the men; a silent agreement had been made as Thancred left Samara lightly dozing under his white coat, safe in Urianger's care. For once, he stepped out into the shadows dressed almost entirely in black, the red scarf the only shade of colour to be seen and not a shred of white present. 

[crimsondigimonhunter]

[Pinned]

[edit March/01/2025]

This muse will be moved to @variouscolors main acc. The blog will continue here, since it has stuff such as bio for my muses. However, threads will be only accepted on the main account from now own.

---///---

• Hello, this blog is about a very old muse I had a long time ago. I'd like to write him again, but differently from the first time, which was back in 2011-2012. However, I've opted to follow an old AU from 2012, which I rebuilt and removed all my frustrations from the canon in 2022. Said AU had no name for ages until I decided to call it after one of the insert songs from Hunters arc -- Legend Xros Wars. The LXW AU is my baby and in 2022 I realized that I deeply liked Hunters as a whole and had fun with it. I have lots of fond memories about that time, and I legitimately loved Tagiru & Gumdramon. But the original AU setting was made out of frustration, but still with no ill intents. The new version of it was made to recycle some of the good parts of it and be more likely a love-letter to Hunters + the DigiAnime franchise in general. You can read more about the LXW AU on AO3, which includes some art and more details about the premise + characters and their designs.

• Status: Rebuilding main acc + working on a few things so low activity for a while (if you urgently need me check @beginningobserver or @digitalgate02 -- both here or on bluesky.)

[interest checker form] ← i'm testing this method, so please fill it if possibly.

※ Use the tags on this post to access other areas of the blog.

※ Rules below:

• I do not expect people to roleplay anything as it is in the document. However I’m not against whoever decides to join me and add more details to it. I’m keeping the link to my AO3 document just as some guide about this AU and Muses.

• Please refrain from adding Hunters clout or hating on my portrayal of this character. I won’t allow any of those here, and you will be blocked.

• The main blog’s rules are also valid to this blog. Please respect them or refrain from interacting with me. Also please be 20+ to follow this blog since I don’t feel comfortable with minors. SFW but might contain adult language.

• I go with JP terminology & names, but I’m totes fine with dub names. If you start a thread with them, I’ll tag along with it. But if I’m the one starting it I’ll go with what I’m used to. Portrayal based of JP and BRPT versions. Sorry I have zero knowledge about the US dub.

• Usual common etiquette – No hatred towards people’s religions, sexual/romantic orientation, gender (or lack of), PoC, ethnicities, etc. I won’t hesitate to block if needed.

• I don’t have interest in shipping btw, Tagiru here is a minor and even if I write an older version of him, I'd prefer to not ship him with anyone at all.

※ Name's Ni and pronouns She/They • I'm 25↑ and i like to make AUs for everything.

[lokiscauldron]

Hey yall, personal shit negativity warning (death/suicide mention), feel free to skip if ya see this and dont wanna read :) warning over and have a lovely day/night!

today is fuckin crisis mode

Yk how you get those feelings like ur not gonna live till xyz age but every time it gets kinda close it moves out a year or 2? Mine isn't a age rn but I'm starting to freak out bc it's today (tomorrow?). Intense feeling for like 3 years that I wouldn't make it past this new years, even had a panic attack last year and by early March had accepted that I wouldn't see another birthday or even the next year. It stopped bothering me altogether in like April and I just came to terms with it. Unfortunately, it's new years eve and the deadline still hasn't changed for me mentally, but I have no idea how tf I would die tomorrow, like even today I went thru like 6 ways I'd die per hour all the way from accidentally poisoning myself via cleaning supplies (if I don't make it I want to leave a clean space for whoever finds me) to a car crash. But idk how it would happen tomorrow unless I killed myself which I can't do bc my best friend already had someone close to him kill themself on new years and I can't add to that and don't wanna worry him with this. So I'm posting it here. And I'm honestly more scared of not dying tomorrow bc I have made no actual plans for my life beyond this year bc I was so sure I'm not gonna make it to see them happen so I didn't see a point. I dont really want to kill myself rn but knowing me that wont last long, depressive spiral started around october and hasnt shown any signs of lifting and winter break has done like nothing for my mental health. If anything its given me more energy to hurt myself with bc im slightly less sleep deprived. Sooo yea hasn't been a great few days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years tbh. Anyways if I don't die ill post on new years and if I do happy new years! May the new year bring light a happiness to all of you, and remember you're worth it; eat a snack, drink some water, and take care of yourself. I love ya <3

[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 15. Jigsaw

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 2,217

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

"Hey kid.....Are you okay?" You cautiously approached the boy, but he didn't show any sign of acknowledgment. What was this little kid doing all by himself? He didn't look to be any more than ten or eleven. You glanced around at the surrounding shops, trying to locate a frantic parent or sibling, but everyone in the area was just walking by, not even glimpsing at the distressed child.

"M-mama-"The boy choked out as he continued to sob. You looked around again but there wasn't anyone nearby who seemed to be missing a kid. He didn't appear to be hurt in any way, but his hands were obstructing his face, so it was hard to tell for sure. Something shiny on his wrist grabbed your attention. You bent down, examining the metal bracelet. It had a phone number etched into it. Was this a medical bracelet? You knew people with allergies, those prone to seizures, as well as other health problems wore bracelets to inform emergency personnel what they may be afflicted with. This looked like something similar, but all that was written on the band was a phone number.

After looking around a bit you spotted a pay phone across the street. Would it be okay to leave the kid? Even just for a second? You weren't by any means an expert on comforting children, so this was a worrying situation no matter what you decided to do. The boy's breathing was ragged and progressively getting faster. If you wanted to go call whoever's number was written on the band you figured you should probably try calming the kid down first. You hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder but withdrew it immediately.

He was as cold as ice! How was that possible? It was around seventy or eighty degrees out today. Not to mention noon, so the sun was beating down on you pretty fiercely.

"H-help.... m-me." The boy wheezed. Much to your surprise he jumped up and clung to your arm. "D-don't leave p-please." The boy shivered and tightened his grip on your arm. "I-I don't want to be alone." Even though his skin was icy his palms were extremely sweaty. You didn't mind it, but you wondered what in the world could be ailing the boy. Was this an illness? As he tried to look at you his eyelids drooped down. He looked like he was trying to keep them open, but despite his best efforts, couldn't.

"Whoa." You repositioned yourself so you could sit next to the boy as he clung to you. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Did your parents bring you here? Who is supposed to be looking after you?" The boy's breathing calmed down a bit but picked back up when a car on the nearby road honked its horn. The boy shook and clung to your arm even tighter than before. Could this be a panic attack? "Look. I don't mean to be pushy, but you need to try calming down." You said softly, trying not to add to the boy's anxious state. "If you keep breathing like this, you're only going to make yourself feel worse."

"O-okay." He was obviously trying his best, but his breathing still came out uneven and ragged.

"Here." Given the kid was struggling to keep his eyes open, you placed one of his hands on your chest close to your heart. It felt odd to be comforting a stranger's child, but at the moment you didn't have much of a choice. Nobody in the passing crown was stopping to help, and you couldn't ask the boy where his parents were if he was too scared to even breathe. "Breathe with me." You took slow deep breaths and let the kid follow your direction. After about a minute he seemed calmer, along the progression of calming down he stopped crying. When the boy was finally breathing on his own you moved to escape his grasp but he tightened it as you tried to pull away.

"P-palms." He stuttered quietly. "I want to wipe my palms." You nodded and pulled a beach towel out of your bag. The boy hurriedly detached from your arm and started wiping his hands.

"Rikiel?! Rikiel!?" Looking over your shoulder you saw a man yelling and looking around. You waved your hand in the air and got his attention. The man sighed when he saw the small boy sitting next to you.

"Papa?" The boy quickly jumped up and ran to the man, crying all the way. "Make it stop!" He whimpered as he hugged his father's arm. The man glanced your way, you simply waved. He probably knew far more about how to treat whatever was ailing the young boy, he didn't need to explain himself to you. The boy's father mouthed a thank you before walking away. As you watched them cross the street, you were bombarded with the tugging sensation again. You were tempted to follow if this time, but ultimately decided against it.

.................................................................

When you finally convinced yourself to walk home your thoughts were once again weighed down by your situation. What were you even doing? You were planning to investigate the scene of a stabbing tomorrow. You hadn't called the police or any proper authorities once this week. This wasn't the kind of thing normal teenagers dealt with.

You continued on your track homeward, glancing in shop windows as you passed by. At one point you stopped to look at a display in the front of a bookstore. There were a few titles you were interested in, but you didn't have the time right now to stop and pick them up. There were a lot of things you were falling behind on lately, schoolwork, bakery work, chores, sleep. What you really wanted to do was sit down, read a book and feel at ease. You looked at your reflection in the window's surface. There was a bit of dried blood on your upper lip, and a small bruise on your cheek. Quickly you wiped off the blood, but in the process something else reflected in the window caught your eye.

Just over your shoulder there was a hooded figure watching from a few feet away. Slowly, you turned from the bookstore and started walking, this time in the direction of your school. After you got a short distance from the guy he started walking in the same direction. When you reached the intersection, you quickly turned around and stared at the guy.

He was caught off guard for a moment, simply stopping, seeming to calculate what to do next, but quickly averted his gaze. Before you could do or say anything he walked off into a nearby crowd. You stood frozen on the sidewalk. Was it your imagination? Had that guy really been following you? Why? You didn't see his face.... It was probably just your imagination. Right?

.................

Eventually, you made it home, but only after double and triple checking there was nobody lurking behind you this time. Even as you started filling orders and serving customers you kept looking over your shoulder. You were taking an order from an old couple when someone placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to practically jumped over the counter.

"Sweetheart? You're rather jittery today." Senora Jones laughed as you sighed in relief. "You've done more than enough today. Why don't you go upstairs? You look tired."

"I'm fine. Really." You insisted while ringing up the last of the baked goods for the old couple.

"Are you sure? Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago." Senora Jones cocked an eyebrow. "Did you even notice?" She asked.

"Oh! Really?" You glanced over at the wall clock that was nearby. "No I hadn't noticed."

"Is everything alright sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know." Your mother sighed as she sat herself on top of the counter. "You've got that weird look in your eyes like something is going to jump out and eat you any second." Senora Jones stopped and looked at you for a moment. "What's that on your face?" Your mother asked, tapping on her cheek.

"Oh... yeah... that." Your hand quickly flew up to cover the bruise. "I just fell while I was out earlier." You explained, it wasn't a lie, you did indeed fall several times while sparring with Jotaro. Senora Jones sighed and walked to the front of the empty store, flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed'.

"Y/n. You know you can tell me anything." Your mother pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat down. "Is someone hurting you? Are you hurting yourself?"

"No! Like I said. I tripped. You know how clumsy I am."

"Then why have you been so distracted lately?" Senora Jones voice cracked a bit. She looked you over carefully, taking in how much you had changed in just a few days. To her you looked more tired that ever, she had no idea what was eating away at you. "Y/n. I'm worried. All week you've been coming home with bandages, and bruises, but then they just disappear!" Senora Jones slowly walked over to you and lightly pulled you into a hug. "Please, you know that you can tell me anything. I want to get you whatever help you need."

"Mom...." You trailed off as you stared into your mother's teary and worry ridden eyes. If you kept avoiding this issue, you'd be hurting both yourself and your mother. "I'm just... stressed about the future." You answered honestly. "I don't know what's going to happen or what I'm supposed to do about it and I'm..." A few tears welled up in your eyes. "And I'm honestly worried about you."

"Oh honey..." Your mother wiped away tears as they rolled down your cheeks. "You don't need to worry about me." She smiled at you comfortingly. "I'm the adult here, I can deal with my own problems. As for the future..." Senora Jones hummed. "No need to worry about it right now, especially if it isn't particularly urgent. Whatever happens I know you'll get through it. The world has a funny way of pushing you in the direction you were always meant to go." She lightly traced her thumb over the bruise on your cheek. "Is that all that's been troubling you?"

"Uhh... yeah." You smiled. "I'm going to go hang in my room for a little bit if you don't mind."

"Okay honey. Be careful, I don't know how many windows I'm willing to replace on account of your clumsiness." Your mother laughed, moving to turn the 'closed' sign to 'open'. "Oh! By the way the repair men finally came and replaced the window. I think he left it cracked open to make sure it was fitted properly. If you could close it before you go to sleep tonight that would be great."

"Will do." You said, giving a smile and a mock salute. "Let me know if you need any help running things down here."

...............................................

You entered your room, opting to ignore the stack of homework looming on your desk. As you set down your things you let your stand manifest. It just felt nice to let Golden Soul wonder around your room. Your stand picked up a book from your shelf and tried handing it to you. It was an older book you had for years, a collection of fairytales by the brothers Grimm, all of which were simplified and censored a reasonable amount to make it more child friendly. When you got older, you bought a more direct translation of the classic stories, one you much preferred. However, for some reason your stand picked up the child friendly version.

"Maybe next time." You reached past your stand and took up the book of more accurate tales instead of the children's version. GS shrugged and placed the children's book on the shelf.

You got comfortable and cracked open the book to a random story, 'The Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was'. All of the stories in the collection were strange and wacky, but the title of this one always caught your attention. In the tale, a young boy set out to learn how to shudder, however he was too witless to realize the dangers he was facing, meaning he was more often than not, blissfully unaware of the terrifying things he faced. The story finished with the boy becoming a king and his wife scaring him with a bucket of fish, in the end finally making him scared.

Ultimately, the story wasn't anything special or life altering, just a fun pastime. It often made you think about the concept of bravery. Was the boy actually courageous for facing ghosts and demons without questioning it once? Or was he just foolish and lucky for not realizing his situation and still defeating the evils? Every time you read this story it would make you think about things like that.

A light breeze from your open window caused a shiver to run up your spine. You looked outside only to find the sun had already set. Slowly you placed the Grimm brother's collection aside and gazed down at the dimly lit street below, deep in thought. There was a someone lurking in the deep recesses of your town, someone dangerous. And they were after you.

With that in mind, you closed and locked the window.