#to their respective gravestones

[mlady-magnolia]

Fontaine and its singular graveyard ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Part 2 of the Fontaine Graveyard Shenanigans

[neverendingford]

People say using xray is bad full-stop, but it feels like they never consider:

using it to find that shulker box you forgot in the spruce forest ten minutes ago

now where did I put that secret sentence to my base built out of chiseled stone bricks?

the shulker box you left behind an outcrop of netherrack that looks identical to every other godforsaken outcrop in this hell dimension

the world generation glitched and I've been hunting for this end portal for literally twenty minutes

another shulker box but this time you left it in one of a thousand caves you've explored already

you know maybe I just have a shulker box problem

people talk about playing minecraft in whatever way you find fun, and what might be cheats for someone is an accessibility tool for others or maybe even just the way they find fun to play. if you're not on a competitive server, maybe chill out?

[firelise]

To quote my 12 yr old cousin late one night playing dominos under a streetlight (frustrated and losing mind you), “SEÑORE y esto??? Quiten esa vaina de música pon un BAD 👏🏽BUNNY 👏🏽 pon un reggaetton??? Un dembow?? Pero bueno…coño”

[silent-sentinels]

we're gonna go visit our grandma tomorrow, it'll be real chill :]

[itsalwaysdark]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[stlazarusgravesiteservices]

Website: https://www.stlazarusgravesiteservices.com

Address: 17 N 5th Avenue #1046, Beech Grove, Indiana 46107, USA

St Lazarus Gravesite Services specializes in the meticulous care of gravesites. Their offerings include tombstone cleaning, plot maintenance, and decoration services for various occasions. With a commitment to using gentle, environmentally friendly methods, they assure the respectful and professional upkeep of your loved ones' final resting places.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/St-Lazarus-Gravesite-Services/100091459401828/

Keywords: headstone decoration gravesite maintenance tombstone cleaning services environmentally friendly gravestone care plot maintenance service respectful gravesite upkeep professional cemetery care annual gravesite decoration algae removal from tombstones lichen removal gravesite non chemical tombstone cleaning headstone hand cleaning service reliable gravesite service customized gravestone care seasonal cemetery decoration grave care professionals trusted gravesite maintenance detailed headstone cleaning gentle gravestone preservation family gravesite care gravestone preservation solutions cemetery plot care eco friendly headstone cleaning personalized gravesite services memorial stone upkeep compassionate cemetery care experienced gravesite specialists innovative gravestone maintenance eco conscious headstone care time honored cemetery services expert gravesite restoration sustainable tombstone cleaning careful headstone preservation memorial plot enhancement gravestone cleaning and restoration precise cemetery plot maintenance family focused gravesite care thorough headstone cleaning progressive gravestone care loving cemetery plot upkeep gravestone maintenance professionals attentive headstone cleaning service comprehensive gravesite care sensitive tombstone preservation personalized cemetery decoration restorative gravesite services headstone cleaning expertise meticulous gravestone care compassionate cemetery professionals reliable gravesite enhancement beech grove gravesite maintenance tombstone cleaning beech grove headstone decoration in beech grove environmentally friendly gravestone care beech grove plot maintenance service beech grove respectful gravesite upkeep beech grove professional cemetery care beech grove annual gravesite decoration beech grove algae removal beech grove tombstones lichen removal gravesite beech grove non chemical tombstone cleaning beech grove headstone hand cleaning beech grove reliable gravesite service beech grove customized gravestone care beech grove seasonal cemetery decoration beech grove beech grove grave care professionals trusted gravesite maintenance beech grove detailed headstone cleaning beech grove gentle gravestone preservation beech grove family gravesite care in beech grove gravesite maintenance near me tombstone cleaning services near me headstone decoration near me environmentally friendly gravestone care near me plot maintenance service near me respectful gravesite upkeep near me professional cemetery care near me annual gravesite decoration near me algae removal from tombstones near me lichen removal gravesite near me non chemical tombstone cleaning near me headstone hand cleaning service near me reliable gravesite service near me customized gravestone care near me seasonal cemetery decoration near me grave care professionals near me trusted gravesite maintenance near me detailed headstone cleaning near me gentle gravestone preservation near me family gravesite care near me

[filipineapple]

one detail that i love is that lisa is less doctor frankenstein but more mary shelley despite the movie's title. lisa's introduction is her stone rubbing the creature's headstone while mary learned to write using her mother's gravestone. lisa isn't a scientist she's a seamstress which is closer to mary's profession as a writer. they're women who lost their mothers at a young age and were outcasts in their respective societies. both having an odd relationship with death, finding love and comfort in it. mary connects with her mother through her grave like how lisa does with the creature's. at it's core it's a movie about grief and the non-finality of death.

it's also a campy movie about a devoted zombie romantic who would chop dicks off for their goth wife which i think stays true to the spirit of mary shelley.

[sunkissed-psyche]

THANATOS: AN INFODUMP

Thanatos (Θανατος) known to the romans as Mors is the god or daimon (personified spirit) of non-violent death. He is a chthonic deity residing in the underworld.

This post covers his family, symbols, notable myths, epithets, orphic hymn, and my favourite passages about him.

PARENTAGE AND SIBLINGS

His parentage and family can be understood through Hesiod’s Theogony (A Greek epic written in the 8th or 7th B.C)

And Nyx (Night) bare hateful Moros (Doom) and black Ker (Violent Death) and Thanatos (Death), and she bare Hypnos (Sleep) and the tribe of Oneiroi (Dreams). And again the goddess murky Nyx, though she lay with none, bare Momos (Blame) and painful Oizys (Misery), and the Hesperides . . . Also she bare the Moirai (Moirae, Fates) and the ruthless avenging Keres (Death-Fates) . . . Also deadly Nyx bare Nemesis (Envy) to afflict mortal men, and after her, Apate (Deceit) and Philotes (Friendship) and hateful Geras (Old Age) and hard-hearted Eris (Strife).

— Parents: Nyx with no father (Roman versions of his birth name Erebus the father)

— Siblings:

Apate (deceit)

Eris (strife)

Geras (old age)

Hesperides (nymphs of the evening)

Hypnos (sleep) Ker (violent death)

Keres (death-fates)

Moirai (fates)

Momos (blame)

Moros (doom)

Nemesis (retribution)

Oizys (misery)

Oneiroi (dreams)

Philotes (friendship)

SYMBOLS AND APPEARANCE

SYMBOLS

— inverted torch → represents a life being extinguished

— butterfly → symbolises the soul

— sword → indicates his authority to sever the thread of life

— poppies → as a symbol of eternal sleep

— wreath → suggesting eternity, or the cyclical nature of life and death

APPEARANCE

Greek vase paintings depicted him as a winged, older man with a beard and rarely as a young, beardless youth.

Roman sculptures portrayed him as a youth holding an inverted torch and a wreath or butterfly

NOTABLE MYTHS

— THANATOS AND THE BODY OF SARPEDON

As seen in the Iliad, Thanatos and Hypnos are tasked to carry the body of Sarpedon away from the battlefield to Lycia so his brothers and countrymen can give him a respectful burial.

Homer, Iliad 16. 453 ff (trans. Lattimore) (Greek epic C8th B.C.) : "[Hera speaks to Zeus about the approaching death of his son Sarpedon :] ‘But after the soul and the years of his life have left him [Sarpedon], then send Thanatos (Death) to carry him away, and Hypnos (Sleep), who is painless, until they come with him to the countryside of broad Lykia (Lycia) where his brothers and countrymen shall give him due burial with tomb and gravestone.’"

Homer, Iliad 16. 681 ff : "Then [Apollon] gave him [Sarpedon] into the charge of swift messengers to carry him, of Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), who are twin brothers, and these two presently laid him down within the rich countryside of broad Lykia (Lycia)."

— THE CAPTURE OF THANATOS BY SISYPHUS

Sisyphus was the (possibly) founder and king of Corinth and was known as ‘the craftiest on men’ in texts by Homer. In the myth, Thanatos was sent to carry Sisyphus into the underworld. Upon Thanatos’ arrival, Sisyphus who was hiding chained him and in doing do, suspended death across the entire world. Thanatos was later freed by Ares who had noticed an absence of death from the battlefield

Alcaeus, Fragment 38a (trans. Campbell, Vol. Greek Lyric I) (Greek lyric C6th B.C.) : "King Sisyphos (Sisyphus), son of Aiolos (Aeolus), wisest of men, supposed that he was master of Thanatos (Death); but despite his cunning he crossed eddying Akheron (Acheron) twice at at fate's command."

Aeschylus, Sisyphus the Runaway (lost play) (Greek tragedy C5th B.C.) : Weir Smyth (L.C.L.) quotes from Pherecydes, a C5th B.C. mythographer, in his discussion of the plot of this lost play: "The drama was satyric; its theme, the escape from Haides of the crafty Korinthian king. According to the fabulous story told by Pherekydes (Frag. 78 in Müller,Fragmenta Historicum Graecorum) Sisyphos made known to Asopos that it was Zeus who had carried off his daughter Aigina; in punishment for which offence the god sent Thanatos (Death) against the babbler; but Sisyphos bound Thanatos (Death) fast, so that men ceased to die, until Ares came to the rescue, released Thanatos, and gave Sisyphos into his power."

— THANATOS WRESTLED BY HERACLES

In the Euripides, a Greek tragedy written in the 5th C B.C. Thanatos is wrestled by Heracles to save the life of Alkestis. Heracles does this to repay Admetos, Alklestis’

Euripides, Alcestis 839 ff : "Herakles : I must save this woman who has died so lately, bring Alkestis back to live in this house and pay Admetos all the kindness that I owe. I must go there [to the funeral at the graveside] and watch for Thanatos (Death) of the black robes (melampeplos), master of dead men (anax nekrôn), and I think I shall find him drinking the blood of slaughtered beasts beside the grave. Then, if I can break suddenly from my hiding place, catch him, and hold him in the circle of these arms, there is no way he will be able to break my hold on his bruised ribs, until he gives the woman up to me. But if I miss my quarry, if he does not come to the clotted offering, I must go down, I must ask Kore (Core, the Maiden) [Persephone] and the Master (Anax) [Haides] in the sunless homes of those below (domos anêlios)."

EPITHETS

Greek

- Paean -> the healing (delivers men from the pains and sorrows of life)

- Melampeplos -> of the black robes

- Anax Nekron -> master of dead men

English (these are ones I've derived from text so partial upg)

- insatiable

- dreadful/dreaded one

- awful god

- with a heart of iron

- without mercy

Latin

- Acherontis - inflicter of Acheron (woe)

ORPHIC HYMN

The Fumigation from Manna. Hear me, O Death [Thanatos], whose empire unconfined, extends to mortal tribes of every kind. On thee, the portion of our time depends, whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends. Thy sleep perpetual bursts the vivid folds, by which the soul, attracting body holds: Common to all of every sex and age, for nought escapes thy all-destructive rage; Not youth itself thy clemency can gain, vigorous and strong, by thee untimely slain. In thee, the end of nature's works is known, in thee, all judgment is absolved alone: No suppliant arts thy dreadful rage control, no vows revoke the purpose of thy soul; O blessed power regard my ardent prayer, and human life to age abundant spare.

MY FAVOURITE MISC. COLLECTION OF TEXTS

Hesiod, Theogony 758 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or C7th B.C.) : . . . These are Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), dread divinities. Never upon them does Helios, the shining sun, cast the light of his eye-beams, neither when he goes up the sky nor comes down from it. One of these [Hypnos], across the earth and the wide sea-ridges, goes his way quietly back and forth, and is kind to mortals, but the heart of the other one [Thanatos] is iron, and brazen feelings without pity are inside his breast."

Aeschylus, Fragment 82 Niobe (from Stobaeus, Anthology 4. 51. 1) (trans. Weir Smyth) (Greek tragedy C5th B.C.) : "For, alone of gods, Thanatos (Death) loves not gifts; no, not by sacrifice, nor by libation, canst thou aught avail with him; he hath no altar nor hath he hymn of praise; from him, alone of gods, Peitho (Persuasion) stands aloof."

Aeschylus, Fragment 141 Philoctetes (from Stobaeus, Anthology 4. 52. 32) : "[The wounded Philoktetes (Philoctetes) laments :] ‘O Death (thanatos), the healer (paian), reject me not, but come! For thou alone art the mediciner of ills incurable, and no pain layeth hold on the dead.’"

[sleepymarimo]

toji x fem!reader // sfw! a little meet cute moment with some sprinkles of sadness synopsis: reader cleans and maintains abandoned graves, including that of toji's late wife.

𝐓𝐎��𝐈 doesn’t visit his late wife’s grave often, if ever.

it’s easy to say that it’s because he doesn’t care, that he’s lost all respect for the world and those on, or buried beneath it. yet, the reality is that he’s ashamed, a bit of a coward. how could he face her again? how could he read the letters of her name knowing he’d been unable to grant the one request she’d given him? take care of megumi.

he doesn’t know why he’s walking in the direction of the cemetery, an old, surely run down patch of land that’s now nestled between some homes just outside of shinjuku.

maybe the weight of his most recent job gets to him. maybe it’s nearing what would’ve been their anniversary. maybe the weather reminds him of her funeral, in which him and baby megumi were the only attendees.

a rock gets kicked a good few meters away as he remembers that day. her family had cut her off after she’d married him, seeing nothing good coming out of their future, feeling disdain at the mention of their daughter marrying man with not a thing to his name. toji scoffs. perhaps they were right.

the overcast sky does nothing for the scenery ahead, which consists of old, rusted cemetery gates and a wall made of dull, greyed stones.

however, a splash of color stands out against the monochrome background. it’s all instinct, the way his senses hone in, but it’s not because you’re the only other person in the cemetery, not because your colored scarf makes you particularly identifiable.

no, it’s because you, a stranger, are standing in front of his wife’s grave.

despite the numerous leaves on the ground, the rather quiet environment, you don’t hear him approach.

you’re focused on your task, your brows ever so slightly knitted, a bristly brush in your hand which you use to scrub away at any debris wedged between the letters of this grave. dust, mud, leaf litter… it gets removed with each gentle movement.

a bottle of cleaner is in your other hand, spraying the stone every now and then when it gets too dry or when a particularly stubborn piece of debris refuses to be erased from existence.

one little stain catches your attention, so much so that you ignore how the autumn wind nips at your cheeks. it’s just about removed. a little more, a little more…

“what are y’doing?”

a small gasp leaves you, or maybe you choke on air, and your hands retract from the gravestone as if you’d been burned. you take a couple of steps back, a natural response, wanting to put some distance between you and whoever else has decided to join you in the cemetery.

the sudden move results in you kicking over your coffee cup, your mind a mess as you crouch down and keep it from spilling any further. you put your tools away, too, placing the brush and spray bottle into a tote containing a few other items.

toji doesn’t mean to intimidate or scare you.

it’s just… how he is. it’s in the energy he carries, how he presents himself to the world that’s done him more harm than good. he’s suspicious of you, reasonably so.

when you finally stand and look up at him, he can see the anticipation in your eyes. your hands fidget, unsure of whether to retreat into your pockets or rise in self defense.

“i’m so sorry,” are your immediate words, sincere. “i didn’t know she had visitors.”

she.

why are you talking about her like you were a part of her life? toji is sure he’s never met you before. he doesn’t remember his late wife saying a thing about weirdos who hang out in cemeteries, either.

those green eyes of his narrow, just a bit. he doesn’t have to say anything more, his stance is enough. you haven’t answered his question and he isn’t going to ask again.

“i, um, clean graves,” you answer after a few heartbeats, a little put off by his stare. “i’ve been coming by for the past year, clean up every month or two. i usually wait and make sure no one comes by. i thought it was abandoned, i’m so sorry.”

the situation isn’t entirely new to you. it’s not the first time you’d been ‘caught’, and the reactions you’ve gotten have ranged from grateful to furious, but it’s jarring each time. how could it not be? you’re not a fool, you know these people meant something to someone, that they represent more than the headstones ever could.

your eyes remain on his, equal parts apologetic and bashful, clearly genuine.

toji’s posture relaxes, just a bit.

a part of that has to do with the smidge of guilt he feels. abandoned. he couldn’t be surprised. after all, he never visited, never paid for cleaning services.

perhaps a normal person would say thank you, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. he’s not one for such words, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“it’s fine,” he ends up saying, curt, to the point, not giving away the extent of what he’s thinking or feeling.

even those two words have you feeling relieved, a long sigh leaving your lips. you can’t deny that you’re itching to leave, still a little unnerved. being alone with a strange man in a cemetery isn’t exactly on your bucket list, so you reluctantly reach down and grab your things.

your bag gets slung over your shoulder, but your coffee… well, you’re pretty much left with an empty cup now. the liquid had spilt all over the concrete floor when he’d spooked you earlier.

“i’ll leave her alone,” you promise him, truly not looking to cause any conflict. “sorry again…”

for a second, toji considers leaving it at that.

his eyes drift from you to your empty cup. he should feel bad, should be a decent person, but can’t find it in himself to reassure you.

he needs a nudge, and that nudge is given to him in the form of an acorn falling from the tree rooted over his wife’s grave.

the small object hits him right on the head, reprimanding him for his actions. toji grunts, his hand coming up to rub at the spot where the damn thing whacked him. he should’ve sensed it, should’ve been aware of its existence as soon as it snapped off the branch.

his eyes look up toward the sky, almost glaring, and for a second he can almost hear her voice, scolding him.

“don’t be mean, toji!”

with a click of his tongue, he looks back at you. you, who’d taken care of his wife in death as he’d cared for her in life.

inhaling, he decides to screw it all and take a step toward you. maybe being a decent human wouldn’t kill him. maybe.

“look, i didn’t mean to freak you out or make you spill your drink,” it’s the closest thing to an apology he’ll give, but it’s better than nothing.

he recognizes the logo on your cup, then nods his head toward the cemetery gates. “let me at least buy you a new one,” he offers, though by the sound of it, it’s quite clear he wants to do this for you. “what’s your name, anyway?”

you tell him, then he gives you his.

the sun starts to burn away at the clouds, warming the earth just as you’re about to leave the cemetery. things grow a little brighter, a whole shift in the atmosphere.

toji doesn’t comment on the gust of wind ushering you two out of the gates, the rustle of leaves which could pass as a hushed cheer. no, he won’t say anything, not even if the breeze on his back feels like the hands of his late wife, pushing him toward something new.

his eyes flicker down, watching you, noting the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. he shakes his head, steels his heart, ignoring the small jump it does as you look back at him.

no, he won’t say anything, not at all.

[definitelynotabirthblog]

A Church Birth

Word count: 2800

Summary: a homeless young woman gives birth in a church on a cold night with the help of a vicar

TW: mention of bowels opening in the context of childbirth. Otherwise a bog standard if inconvenient birth fic.

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

Reverend Thomas Callahan tipped the electric kettle and poured boiling water over his teabag. As he stirred the steaming, amber liquid, the metal teaspoon clinking on the side of ceramic mug, he gazed out of the window in the small kitchen attached to his church, St Barnabas. It was November 5th and winter had ushered itself in rather prematurely in Reverand Callahan's opinion. Just two weeks ago, the village had been enjoying the last lingering rays of an Indian summer. Yet today, though it was barely 5pm, the milky glow of the moon had crept over the village as dusk fell, casting pointed, angular shadows of gravestones over the churchyard. A cold breeze picked up dead yew leaves and made them pirouhette beneath the window pane. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky, warning of the imminent storm. The reverend poured milk into his tea and lifted the mug to his lips, watching the wind drive the thick flurries of snow diagonally. As he sipped, a particularly strong gust forced the back door of the church open with a bang. He sighed.

Cupping his mug in his hands for warmth, he made his way to the door. He used his entire body weight to force the door shut, twisting the lock after.

"Lord, keep us safe tonight," he murmured, clutching his tea. He stared at his alter, his thoughts swimming.

He was a young vicar and St Barnabas was his first parish, its village his first flock. More than half of local residents attended services on Sunday's - most out of obligation than devotion to the Lord, he had concluded - but few reached out to him for guidance and prayer between services. Privileged enough to be privately educated by wealthy parents, he was painfully aware of his naivety, and had hoped that being posted to a poorer, rural community would provide him with the experience needed to advise and councel. He had come to understand that he was regarded with a mixture of amusement, novelty and affection - but not respect. He had not earned those stripes yet.

Physically he supposed that he was handsome enough. He had a head of thick, mocha-coloured hair, olive eyes framed with perfectly symmetrical eyelashes and peach-coloured skin. His lips were soft and pink, his front teeth crooked, but he was blessed with a warm smile that made his eyes shine. At six foot one inch he was tall, healthy man, muscular without being ripped, with a small, stubborn podge of stomach fat. He hadn't been oblivious to the occasional attractive young women taking a second yearning glance at him when he had explored the local towns, but his cluelessness at navigating such situations prevented him from pursuing them. As he walked away, frustration simmering inside him, he would often feel the aching throb of an erection tenting in his trousers.

A rap at the front door stole his attention from his reverie. He set his mug down and strode along the pews, shoes squeaking in the otherwise silent building. The night had drawn in now. Who could possibly still need the sanctuary of his church?

Thomas opened the door and peered out. The flurries he had noticed in the kitchen were now falling at blizzard speed as an inch-thick layer blanketed the churchyard, the wall and the lane beyond. Pinpricks of orange light in houses across the snow-covered village green sparkled, but the temperature outside was now close to freezing. His breath was visible in thick white puffs as he took in the sight before him.

A young woman. Her face was so pale it looked translucent, with fearful blue eyes and teeth chattering in the icy air. Her knotted blond hair cascaded around her shoulders which were covered in a shapeless coat the exact colour of moss. She wore thin leggings on her legs and a dirty pair of boots which looked like that they had trekked through mud. Thomas recognised her - she had been loitering outside the church after the previous two Sunday services but had darted away the second he tried to approach her.

"Can I help you?" he enquired, first looking past her to check she was alone, and then looking directly into her scared eyes.

She nodded and tried to talk, but either due to the cold or nerves, she was unable to speak, her mouth forming the shape of a word but without sound.

"It's too cold to dither out here," he said, assessing the situation. "Would you like to come in? Then maybe I can help?"

She nodded. He opened the door wider and she bowed her head before scurrying past him like a frightened mouse.

When they were safely inside, Thomas turned and looked at the young lady. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very petite in stature. Her scruffy clothes had a musty smell and were torn in places as though had been living rough. The hollowness of her cheeks, her pale face and her wet hair gave her the look of a drowned person. As the warmth of the church hit her, any remaining stamina she had was lost as she staggered, fell against the wall and slipped towards the ground. Thomas caught her frail body in his arms by reflex and supported her the last few inches towards the floor. He knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Willow," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you think you could stand up again, Willow? You can come and warm up and then maybe I can call someone for you."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, her face contorted and she cried out in pain. Her hand instictively travelling to her abdomen which was protruding from her slender frame despite the oversized coat. Her tortured eyes locked onto his, pleading for help. Compassion flooded through him and he did not hesitate as he scooped her up, one arm supporting her skinny shoulders and the other under her knees. Breathing through his mouth as the smell of the motheaten coat wafted upwards towards his nostrils, he carried the sobbing girl down the aisle and into his office, gently lowering her on the sofa he normally reserved for comforting the bereaved. As her cries reduced to muffled whimpers, he sat down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulders. Desperate for solace, she leant her body against him, and he found himself drawn into an awkward embrace with her, holding her close as he comforted her. Finally her breathing steadied.

"How can I help you, Willow?" His arm remained around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, frantically shaking her head, eyes begging him to understand.

"You're obviously scared and in pain... and not very well? Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked, concerned.

"I... I... maybe..." she said shakily, her head still pressed against his shoulder.

"Maybe?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Maybe if you told me what is wrong, I could help you decide if you need to see a doctor. But you just collapsed in my church. I think seeing a doctor would be a good plan." He looked at her unkempt appearance. "Where have you been staying?"

"Wherever I can."

"Wherever you can?"

She nodded.

"I'm very sorry to ask this but are you homeless?"

"Only for the last two months."

"Only? That's a very long time to be sleeping rough."

She shrugged.

"I'm in touch with a few local hostels. I could ring around and see if I can get you a bed for tonight."

"They won't take me."

"Why won't they?"

"Because... because..." She burst into fresh floods of tears. Within seconds, her cries turned into fresh bellows of pain as she rocked her hips back and forth. "Oh, please help me. It hurts, it HURTS!"

"Willow, please tell me-"

Another noise noise erupted from her, this time low and primal, not unlike a roar. Thomas watched as the pain seized her, calculating whether he should comfort her or call for help first. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the sofa, her agony clear in her eyes as she growled her way through whatever was causing her body such torment. Acknowledging that this was a medical emergency that he was unequipped to handle, he reached to his pocket for his phone. He sighed with exasperation as he saw he had no bars, the sigh turning into a panicked moan on noticing the red light on the router.

"I think I need to call for help," he decided, rubbing Willow's arm in an inadequete effort to offer reassurance. "But I have no signal and the WiFi is down. Probably because of the weather. It means I need to leave you but I'll be b-"

"NO! Please don't go!" she gasped, scrabbling for his hand. "Please, no! You can't leave me!"

As the pain ripped through her body, there was a audible pop, immediately followed by a squelch, as though someone had sat in a puddle of water. Willow immediately pulled her hand to her crotch, relief evident in her face as the pain began to ease once more. Thomas was very confused now. What was wrong with this lady, this scrawny, malnourished young thing sat in his office, who had collapsed in his church, was intermittently wracked with such intense pain it rendered her barely able to speak, seemingly had no one on this earth to help her and was allegedly homeless but not immediately requesting medical help?  He looked at her as she shut her eyes, taking whatever brief respite had come her way, the awkward curve of her abdomen distending under her coat. Suddenly he understood just what that audible pop and squelch of liquid was.

"Willow, are you pregnant?"

She gazed at him. "I know it's a sin vicar."

"Let's leave sin at the door for the moment. Is the baby coming?"

"I've been having bad pains all day and... and... I think something has just come out of me."

"I think it is just the fluid that cushions that baby. Do you understand why I'm going to have to leave you do get help?"

Another contraction reared itself before she could reply. Willow threw her head back, her face twisted as the spasms of her womb coasted across her body. The animalistic noises that erupted from her sounded more bovine than human. Thomas knew he needed to establish just how far away from delivering this child she was. As the contraction eased again, he took Willow's trembling hand in his.

"Willow, is the baby coming right now?" he asked, his eyes finding hers.

"It feels like something is coming out of me."

He sighed.

"Do you mind if I have a quick look at you... er, down below?" He blushed. "If the baby is coming now, I will have to catch it."

She hesitated and then nodded.

He knelt down on the floor and positioned himself so he was directly in front of her.

"Do you want to take you bottoms off for me?

Willow kicked off her dirty boots and then, in one slow awkward movement, slipped her leggings and drenched knickers over her skinny hips and past her knees. Thomas helped her pull them over her ankles and threw them on the sofa beside her. Instinctively, she opened her legs for him, showing her unshaved mons. She was positioned with her hips too far back to see anything more than the top half inch of her slit.

"Do you think you could shuffle forwards for me so you're perched towards the edge of the sofa?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for her to shuffle forwards.

She awkwardly scooted her bottom towards him and then reclined as best as she could.

"And maybe you could just lift your legs up for me?"

As she gripped the back of her thighs and pulled them towards her chest, finally exposing her pussy to him. Staring at the site displayed before him, his eyes took in her jewel-like clitoris nestled between her stubbled labia. Between them was her vaginal opening and peeking at him from underneath, her puckered rosebud. Unable to see anything that looked like a baby emerging, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew. Thankfully I can't see anything. So-"

Willow roared as a contraction hit, her breaths coming in shallow and ragged gasps. Her tender asshole bulged and her rectum emptied right there onto the edge of sofa. Her vulva bulged outwards as her labia started to separate. A dark, wet mass appeared just inside her vagina, fluid dribbling out from around it in rivulets onto Thomas's knees. Adrenalin surged through him as he realised there could be no leaving Willow to get help, as she was about to birth her baby right there into his arms. He looked around frantically for something clean to deliver the baby onto and quickly grabbed a couple of spare sweaters he had on top of his desk. As he eased one under Willow's buttocks, her breathing started to ease and the pain lessened once more.

"What do I do?" she trembled, panic welling over in her voice.

"I'm a vicar, Willow, not a midwife," he laughed nervously, looking up at her over her spasming belly.  "I think you need to keep doing what your body is telling you to do and I'll catch the baby when it comes."

"I need to push. I can't stop it."

"Then push, if that's what your body is telling you to do."

As though on cue, Willow started grunting her way through another contraction. Her pussy stretched more with each torturous push, until a dark, two inch portion of head was visible as the contraction peaked. When it eased off, the head slipped back inside, her inflamed lips closing over it. Willow threw her head back exhausted, but seconds later she was bellowing again as her baby appeared once more at her opening. Thomas wondered just how much stretching it could take as the now lemon-sized portion of head continued to be driven outwards. A memory of a film he saw came to him, where the birth attendant used gauze to support the woman as she pushed out the biggest part of her baby. He pressed the sweater he put under Willow against her perenium. She writhed and shrieked on the sofa as she neared a full crown, her legs flailing around Thomas's head.

"Oh, help me! Oh God in heaven!" she screamed, her panicked, frantic hand reaching between her legs for Thomas.

"Please, just breathe Willow," he said, pressing on her taint with one hand and taking her hand with his other. "The head's coming out now. I think this is the worst bit."

Willow panted, her swollen vulva circling her baby as she drove it out of her body. As the contraction peaked, the head teetered on the raw lips of her pussy before the pain eased again and her body pulled it back inside her canal. There it sat, just visible between her stinging labia.

"You were so close then," Thomas said, squeezing her hand. "One more push like that and I think the head will be out."

Gathering her strength again, Willow bore and pushed the infant out of her fatigued body once again. It popped out with a gushy splash, amniotic fluid and blood splattering the floor and pebbledashing her inner thighs. Thomas balanced the damp, slimy head in his hands, watching as the child's brow furrowed, its mouth opening in a silent cry. Gradually, it turned to Willow's thigh.

"The head's out. Push again."

With one last effort, a dribble of fluid and a groan, the wriggling baby tumbled into the world. Thomas caught its slippery body in his shaking hands and carefully lowered it onto his knee. A baby boy. He cried lustily, feeling the chilly air on his skin for the first time. Thomas wrapped the little boy in his sweater and looked up at Willow. Her entire body was shaking, her face shining with sweat.

"Willow... Willow, you've done it!" he gasped, gazing down at the newborn.

She gazed down at the vicar, whose eyes were meeting hers from between her legs and reached her arms out. As if he was handling the crown jewels, he carefully settled Willow's firstborn son on her breasts. Tears of relief and exhaustion leaked down her pretty pale face, her chest shaking with sobs as the baby was comforted by the warmth of her trembling body.

"Thank you," she whispered to Thomas, her lips brushing her baby's head.

"You did it all yourself, you wonderful girl," he replied, the emotion crackling in his voice. He gazed over at his desk and looked at the router, the green light shining. "And would you believe it, I can finally ring for help!"

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

INCLUDES | takashi mitsuya, manjiro sano (bonten tl), chifuyu matsuno, shuji hanma, tetta kisaki, haruchiyo sanzu.

CONTENT WARNING | sanzu's contains nsfw, mention of eating disorders. fem!reader.

NOTE | all characters are in their 20s, english isn't my first language! (divider by cafekitsune)

— MITSUYA.

Mitsuya has a hard time getting over your death. He's constantly haunted by the feeling that he somehow failed to protect you, even though your death had nothing to do with him and everyone around him always insists on the fact that there's nothing he could have done to prevent it.

His grief gets so bad that taking care of himself becomes the last thing on his mind. He neglects his appearance and barely eats anymore, he simply can't find the motivation to carry on with his life as if nothing happened. The only thing he looks forward to every day is going back to sleep.

His dreams have become a sanctuary, a safe place where death doesn't exist and the two of you can finally reunite.

— MIKEY.

Mikey keeps a stoic expression the entire time he's being told the news. He's biting his tongue, trying not to let his emotions show.

He feels his heart break into a thousand pieces as fear, anger, and grief all overtake him at once. He wants to scream, to lash out, to hit something. But he doesn't say a single word. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

He then nods curtly before exiting the room and heading to a quiet place where he can gather his thoughts. The world around him feels distant, everything turning into white noise as he struggles to come to terms with what he's just been told.

Mikey hadn't been in touch with you for nearly a decade and he's unsure if he's even supposed to mourn you as intensely as he does, not knowing if you still remembered or even cared about him after all those years.

All he knows is that he did still care about you, and your death feels like a cruel joke life played on him, a punishment that cuts him to the core for all the crimes he's committed.

— CHIFUYU.

Chifuyu completely isolates himself from the world. The moment he hears about your death, he breaks down and cries inconsolably for a solid hour, completely shattered by the loss of yet another friend.

He blames himself for not having done enough to save you, and your death brings back the same overwhelming emotions he experienced when he lost Baji.

With a heavy heart, he visits your grave every day and places a single flower on top of your gravestone, silently expressing his love and respect for you. He takes a moment to collect himself then heads to Baji's resting place where he repeats the same ritual and prays that the pain of losing his best friends will eventually get better.

— HANMA.

Hanma acts like he doesn't care. He'll put on a tough façade, tell everyone he never even cared about you and laugh in their faces when they try to offer condolences. He goes so far as to get defensive when anyone dares to suggest that he had any emotional attachment to you.

You were nothing but a careless brat who threw herself head first into the lion's den despite having been warned of the risks beforehand. Why would he feel any sort of empathy? Why would he care?

But this façade crumbles down as soon as he's alone in the funeral home, staring down at your open casket.

He slowly takes a step closer, looking at your lifeless body, the memory of you lying on the ground, blood pouring out of your wounds flashing through his mind.

He reaches out a shaky hand to cup your face but retracts it right away when he feels the coldness of your skin, a single tear escaping from his eye.

He doesn't let it show, but he spends the rest of his life missing you.

— KISAKI.

Kisaki doesn't react. At least, not from the outside. He keeps his head down and continues flipping through his papers, as if the words he just heard held little to no importance to him.

He might even hum dismissively and wave off whoever brought him the news, not bothering to say anything else.

But anyone who knows him knows that Kisaki is seething with anger beneath the surface.

He doesn't allow himself to dwell on it for too long, though; instead, he channels all those hidden emotions into plotting the perfect revenge. He meticulously devises a plan to make everyone involved with your murder pay, calculating each step to ensure maximum damage.

Regardless of how long it takes, whether it be months or even years, Kisaki will make sure that your death doesn't go unpunished.

— SANZU.

Sanzu tries to forget by sleeping with other women. He wants to move on, and he wants to do it fast.

But he'll be damned if forgetting you was an easy task.

He might try to convince himself that it's not intentional, but he often finds himself gravitating towards women who resemble you in some way. Whether it's the color of their skin or similarities in hair color or style, he can't deny that he still longs for you and looks for you in every woman he picks.

He'll take them from behind and pretend they're you, the palm of his hand softly sliding up their back as if you were suddenly the one moaning for more underneath him. He'll probably moan out your name at some point, not giving a damn about getting a negative reaction from the nameless girl he's using.

[ohimsummer]

PLEASE MORE OLD SATORU ANGST AND MY LIFE IS YOURS ILL EVEN SELL MY KIDNEY (no pressure btw)

— angst, character death (you 😽), old! satoru

based off this post

after you pass, if satoru isn’t going through the motions and letting the day slip by him, he goes to visit your grave. he always has a bouquet of flowers to place there, an arrangement of your favorite kind and favorite color. he stares at your tombstone for a while, tracing your name engraved as if this is not real. as if you will pop up next to him any second now and when he turns back to look, it will be a different name with a different date.

sometimes your kids accompany him to pay their respects. they wrap an arm around satoru in a hug and both of them shed tears at your memory again, choking out ‘i miss you’s before breaking down into full-fledged sobs and wishing you were there to comfort them again. the thought of you being gone now forever is a pain that will take them ages to get used to, if they ever grow used to it all. this is not some temporary thing; they will never experience your smile again, your touch again, your laughter, your kindness, they won’t ever get to have a conversation with you ever again. hear an ‘i love you’ from you ever again.

when satoru comes alone, he likes to kneel or sit next to your final resting place. sometimes it hurts his knees and puts an ache in his legs when he finally has to get up again, but he doesn’t mind. he just wants to sit comfortably next to you. he imagines your spirit is kneeling beside him with a head on his shoulders. he wishes it were real, that you were alive again and he could press another kiss to the crown of your head.

he talks a lot during these solitary visits. tells you what’s happened recently, even if it is as mundane as seeing a dragonfly out in your still-thriving garden (that he refuses to let die with you). he tells you what he ate, how he slept, if he got sick or not recently because these are things you would care about if you were still here. his well-being. satoru tells you how that show you two started has finally ended, and spends twenty minutes describing how so that you don’t miss a single detail.

he tells you how the kids are doing, how the grandkids are doing. how your oldest got a promotion at their current job, and how they cried when he told them you would have been so proud. how your grandkids are getting older, they’re walking now, and he wishes you were there to see it. he hopes you can see it, wherever you are beyond the grave. satoru talks and he talks and he talks until his throat runs dry, and then he sits in silence until it is time to leave.

he rests his head against your gravestone for a minute before he does, brows furrowing as he fights back tears. and then he whispers a bunch of ‘i love you’s again, hoping that you hear, hoping that you didn’t forget.

[luvsymai]

I loved your fic where reader and katsuki die I was wondering if you could do a I sorta guess like a part two with people finding them I don’t if you write that kinda thing so sorry if you don’t! -anon🐛

The Final Spark 2 ; Katsuki Bakugo

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Major character deaths, …

<- Masterlist

<- Part one // Part two // Part three

___________________________________

The battlefield, once a place of heroic dreams and ambitions, was now a desolate graveyard. Smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. The devastation was complete, and the silence was suffocating. Among the ruins, the remaining heroes scoured the area, looking for any sign of life, any flicker of hope amidst the carnage.

Izuku Midoriya, his face etched with exhaustion and grief, moved slowly through the wreckage. Every fallen hero and civilian they encountered tore at his heart, but he kept moving, driven by a desperate need to find his friends. His heart sank deeper with every step, his mind refusing to accept the worst.

It was Kirishima who found them first. His usually bright eyes dulled with sorrow as he called out to the others. "Guys, over here," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Midoriya and the others rushed to his side, only to be met with a heart-wrenching sight. Their friend, Katsuki, laying motionless on the ground, his arms tightly wrapped around you. His face, usually so fierce and determined, was softened in a final act of protection and love. You both looked peaceful, as if sleeping, but the blood and the stillness told a different story.

"No... no, this can't be," Midoriya muttered, falling to his knees beside his childhood friend. Tears streamed down his face as he reached out, his hand trembling. "Kacchan... please, wake up..."

Kirishima's face contorted with grief as he knelt next to Bakugo, his hand gently resting on his friend's shoulder. "He fought so hard... they both did," he said, his voice breaking. "He... he never gave up."

Even though Katsuki was mostly rude towards them, they knew deep down inside of him, that he was fond of them.

Ochaco Uraraka, standing nearby, covered her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Bakugo was… Bakugo was holding them…" she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of sorrow and bittersweet warmth. "Even in the end, they were together."

Midoriya gently tried to pry Katsuki’s hold on you, but it was locked in a death grip. "He's... he's holding on so tightly," he said, his voice shaking. "We... we can't separate them."

Shoto Todoroki, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of profound sadness, knelt beside Midoriya. "We won't," he said quietly. "They'll be buried together, just as they should be."

The heroes worked in silence, carefully lifting the entwined bodies of Katsuki and you. Every movement was filled with reverence and sorrow, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. As they carried you both from the battlefield, the reality of their loss settled heavily on their shoulders.

Back at the makeshift camp, the news spread quickly. The other heroes and civilians gathered, paying their respects to the fallen. There were no words to express the depth of their grief, but their silence spoke volumes.

A funeral was held shortly after, a somber affair that brought together friends, family, and comrades. The sky was overcast, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. Katsuki and you were laid to rest side by side, his arms still wrapped protectively around you. The gravestones, simple yet poignant, bore your names and the legacy of your bravery.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Midoriya stepped forward, his voice breaking as he spoke. "Kacchan... you were always so strong, so fierce. You never backed down, never gave up. You were our hero.” He took a deep breath in. “And (Name)... you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, you were quick to jump into action. You had a heart of a hero. You stood by his side through everything. Your courage and love were a light in this dark world. We'll never forget you. We promise to keep fighting, to honor your memory."

The crowd slowly dispersed, but Midoriya, Kirishima, and a few others remained, unable to leave just yet. They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, their hearts heavy with loss.

Finally, Midoriya spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Goodbye, Kacchan. Goodbye, (Name). We'll miss you... so much."

As they walked away, the memory of Bakugo’s protective embrace and the love that bound you together lingered in their minds. It was a reminder of the cost of their fight, of the sacrifices made. And though their hearts were broken, they knew they had to carry on, for you, for Bakugo, and for the future you had both fought so hard to protect.

(A/N) Hope you guys like this! (Spoilers for KNY) I was kind of inspired by Mitsuri and Obanai for the death scene :)

<- Masterlist

<- Part one // Part two // Part Three

[glowsticcc]

and that’s all i needed death fam hc lesgo

whole family dresses like they have a hot topic sponsorship, including tallulah, except it’s more the cottagecore stuff (except when she’s in emo mode, in which case she just goes full linkin park)

missa smells like death, but not in the cold, smelly rotten way, but warm, like sleep or the roses set on top of a gravestone (it’s one of phil’s favorite things about him)

missa and chayanne both have brown and heterochromatic eyes respectively, skull masks just make your eyes blue (personal design) (sans undertale???)

after missa was recognized as her father, tallulahs puppy dog eyes got 5 times more effective (wet cat trait is hereditary)

she taught chayanne and now they team up to make phil get them whatever they want 🌘^🌒

even if they all go to sleep on their section of the bed, they always wake up piled on top of each other 

chayanne got the “taller younger sibling” curse, and while insisting it’s because tallulahs horns make her taller, face to face he’s looking at her chin

missa is tuned to phil’s laugh, and if they are in a crowded room and he hears it its like that one clip of asap rocky hearing rihanna laugh during an interview 

chayanne smells like lemons. i have no reasoning for this but i know in my heart its true.

phil will just absentmindedly play with missas hair if their talking and close enough 

phil taught the kids how to swim, his hollow bones give him a lot of buoyancy 

in physical combat, tallulah and chayanne are always at each other’s backs, fighting in almost perfect sync with each other 

head bonks as shows of affection 

missas more of a cuddle bug and phil’s like one of those big dogs that you could push over and they’d be happy with it. phil could be having a separate conversation and missa would just come up from behind and snuggle him and phil wouldn’t bat an eye 

if i think of more ill add more in an edit yippee

[magnoliasandarson]

tiny tim

The holidays for Tim Drake were always a time of intensely heightened stress. When he was young, before he turned six, his parents would return from whatever dig site they were gallivanting around to pose for ridiculously staged holiday cards. They would drag him to high-society parties, his mother's manicured claws digging into his shoulder through his expensive suit. His father would pat him on the back, always a bit too rough, and tell all of the other business men how Tim was shaping up to be more brilliant than their respective heirs.

When he was six, they decided he could go alone. Little Tim, in his pressed suit, one of the Drake assistants, shepherding him through crowds to make the appropriate niceties before leaving. He made polite appearances, practiced smiles, and carefully rehearsed stories about his parents being too busy to show up, but they would never want to prevent him from seeing his friends.

He felt like an imposter, donning the silk suits year after year, stumbling over coached anecdotes to important people. Invariably, he would be found hiding on a balcony, shivering with blue lips and fingertips. He was more comfortable watching the partygoers through the window. It was better that way.

So when Jason left him sitting in the snow, staring at an icy gravestone and a puddle of blood, he stayed there. The feeling of deja vu kept him firmly on his ass. Poor Tim, freezing alone on Christmas.

He knew why the night failed, why it was doomed, but he wished he could've changed things. He wasn't meant to sit at that table, that was what he kept landing on. If he hadn't sat amongst them, Jason wouldn't have been half as tense, he might've been able to shrug off Bruce's words. Going even further back, if he had never shown up, Jason would have rejoined the family when he came back. It would've never been like this.

Tim thought about that a lot. He'd whispered his fears to Steph, who screamed them at Dick, who then sat with him on a roof and apologized for ever making Tim feel unwanted. It was a band-aid on a bullet hole. Insufficient and a bit insulting. Because Dick hadn't just made him feel unwanted, he'd made him feel useless.

If there was one thing in this life Tim prided himself on, it was being useful. So no, Dick crying through apologies didn't help the gaping wound in Tim's chest. The golden boy couldn't pretend he did what he did out of kindness; Dick taking Robin from him had hurt more than Jason's attack on Titan's Tower. One was forgivable

He was mostly over it; he mostly accepted his place in the family. He was a passive participant, an errand boy, a scapegoat. Maybe that's why he still gravitated to Jason; they were both imposters. In their own ways. His eyes wandered back to his brother, standing at the wrought iron gates, fumbling for another cigarette. Tim wanted to help Jason desperately, but he wasn't equipped- this was another one of those big wing- little wing issues. So he brushed off his pants and stood as Jason walked off down the road.

Tim pressed a hand to the stone next to him and wondered what Jason had been like at Christmas half a decade ago. It was almost too perfect, seeing Dick's battered pick-up squeal down the road to the cemetery.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and braced himself to be disappointed, calling out to the quickly approaching figure, "You missed him-"

Dick collided with him harshly, pulling Tim into his chest with deliberate force. Dick's pulse was loud and furious under Tim's ear, the drum beat of a soldier off to battle, but the way his breathing shuddered made Tim squeeze his eyes shut tightly, "You okay, Tim?"

Tim shoved away all the hurt, pressed down the old wounds and bitterness, and tried desperately not to cry at his brother's embrace-

"Fine."

[kanroji-san]

Hello! I love your Demon Slayer x Record of Ragnarok, especially Muichiro!Y/N Reader with Okita Souji

I hope you do more of that pair! Maybe the Record of Ragnarok ships react to the Hashiras death?

Thank you for your request dear!!! I am sorry for keeping your request a little long. I wrote about Thor and Kanae!Y/n. I hope you will like it.

⚠️Warning⚠️: Demon Slayer Spoilers!, They/Them pronounce!, Reader/Y/n is GN!, Kanae Kocho's death!, Thor and Kanae Kocho are don't belong to me!! They belong to their respective creators!!!

Thor couldn't count how many times he came here. The Demon Slayer Corps Graveyard stretched out from all sides of him. When he first visited this place, the gravestone was new. They were in the last row.

But the years passed, and with them the death toll grew steadily. Now their monument is lost among many other similar graves. Sometimes this made it even more painful. They were just another casualty among the thousands of young lives lost in the fight against Kibutsuji Muzan. It made every death seem insignificant.

But they was never insignificant to him.

He loved them. He was never a man of many words, but the God of Thunder has lived long enough to give his feelings a name. And when it came to Flower Hashira, these feelings always flared up brighter.

They were friends and before their death real tenderness blossomed between them. He had never told them this in his life, but he thought they knew it. After all they have always been good at this.

Today he sat quietly in front of the monument. He had already cleaned the grave and brought an offering, according to the ritual. There was no strict requirement in the ritual to stay longer, but he liked to sit here. There was peace in the cemetery. Usually Thor could sit here quietly. He always imagined himself sitting next to them again.

He took a deep breath to calm himself before standing up. It was early in the morning. He was in the headquarters, surrounded by wisteria. And the demons no longer existed. They had done their job.

Now they can find peace.

Words count:273