#sad feels

[cartoonfanatic]

Doey is alive and you can't tell me otherwise. (idgaf about canon) also im still figuring out preferred way of drawing Doey so hes gonna be inconsistant for a while XD

Also you know im into something when i bust out a traditional comic page with no planning xD

[bustedteabag]

Happy spirk day everyone :D

Lyrics are from "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron

[strayrockette]

Echos of an Empty Chair

Summary: Reader makes Benny’s favorite

Warning: Angst (I made myself cry), grief, loss,

A/N: I wrote a quick angst one shot because I couldn’t stop thinking about this scene. I don’t think I’m going to recover from this one 😭😭😭I broke my own dang heart 😭😭💔💔💔

Masterlist

The room felt hollow, the kind of empty that echoed, amplifying the silence that followed each of my words. I stood in the dim kitchen, where the soft, warm light barely pushed back the shadows creeping in from the corners. The clock ticked rhythmically, each second a cruel reminder of the time that passed without him. I stared at the perfectly set dinner table, two plates arranged just as he liked—one for me, one for him. It was a ritual I couldn’t seem to break, even though I knew he wouldn’t be coming through the door.

“I made your favorite, roasted steak, mashed potatoes, and baked veggies,” I said, my voice wavering in the quiet. My hand instinctively moved to my growing belly, cradling it like I was trying to comfort myself more than the life growing inside. The tightness in my chest grew, but I forced a small smile, the kind I used to give him when he’d tease me about my cooking. “I could barely eat without this,” I tapped my belly lightly, “little one fighting me every step of the way.”

My gaze drifted to the window, drawn by the sight of his bike sitting neatly in the driveway. Its familiar shape was a jarring contradiction, looking pristine and ready to roar back to life, like nothing had changed. Johnny and the boys had worked tirelessly to fix it, each screw and bolt a labor of love and grief, their way of honoring him. I had watched them from the porch, pretending not to notice the tears they thought they hid behind greasy hands and tired smiles. “Johnny and the boys worked together to fix your bike,” I murmured, the sight of it wrenching something inside me. “I didn’t think they’d ever manage to put it back together.”

My mind wandered to that night, the one that shattered everything. I could hear the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and the deafening silence that followed. The phone call, the one that made my knees buckle, replayed in my head over and over like a broken record. I had been folding laundry, something so mundane, when the world caved in. The officer’s voice on the other end was stiff and rehearsed, like he’d given this kind of news a hundred times before. But it was the words that echoed: “There’s been an accident. Benny didn’t make it.”

I stared at the empty chair across from me, the one he used to occupy, where he’d lean back with that lazy grin, teasing me about overcooking the steak or forgetting the salt in the potatoes. I could almost see him there now, legs crossed, fingers drumming on the table, waiting for me to sit down and share a meal, to share a moment. It was like his presence lingered in every corner of this house, in the faint scent of his cologne that still clung to his leather jacket by the door, in the scattered tools he always forgot to put away, in the faint hum of his favorite song that haunted the back of my mind.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I had cried enough, and yet it never felt like enough. Every day without him was a fresh wound, reopening at the slightest trigger—a song on the radio, the rumble of a bike passing by, the sight of his old baseball cap still hanging on the hook by the door. I reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his plate as if touching it would somehow bridge the impossible distance between us.

“I… miss you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. The words were too small for the vast emptiness inside me, too weak to capture the weight of what I’d lost. It wasn’t just Benny I missed; it was the future we’d planned, the family we were building, the little moments of everyday life that were now just memories tainted with pain. I missed his laugh, his ridiculous jokes, the way he’d hold me close when the world felt too heavy.

I looked down at my belly again, the only piece of him left that I could still hold onto. This little life, growing and kicking, was my only anchor, my reason to keep moving forward. But every kick felt bittersweet, a reminder of the love we’d shared and the life we’d never get to have together. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing, hoping, praying that somehow, somewhere, Benny could hear me, that he knew how much I still loved him, how much I needed him, how his absence was a wound that would never fully heal.

I closed my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me like a suffocating blanket. The food on the table grew cold, untouched, just like every other night since he’d been gone. The house, once filled with laughter and love, now felt like a tomb, holding the echoes of a life that had been ripped away too soon. I stayed there, lost in the memories, clutching the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he was still here with me in some small, intangible way.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan

[prismaticpichu]

Hehehehe I finally reached the best part of the Lucrecia fic: Sephiroth’s actual letter to her

[belbel19]

"Thank you"

Bitch shut the fuck up i'm depressed

[reallypleasanttree]

Another Obamitsu Drabble- Canon divergent. Spoilers for the Hashira Training Arc.

“I won’t live past 25,” Mitsuri said, holding her spoon an inch from her lips. Amane told her the truth of it during the Hashira meeting. No one with a demon slayer mark lived past 25. After the meeting, excluding Tomioka, she invited everyone out to dinner. Now she sat alone with Iguro-San in a private dining room. Everyone else went home. “They say you’ll never know when you’re going to die, but now I have a time frame.” 

She stared at the wall vacantly. It was surreal. She had six years left if it was true. What would she do with the rest of her time? She wanted to be someone’s wife and have children. Mitsuri set down her spoon and looked at Iguro-san. His eyes watched her with empathy, closing a bit more than normal. 

“I am not sure what to say,” Iguro-San said. Under the bandages his lips seemed to twitch and there were worry lines on his forehead. “It’s a sacrifice I wish you did not have to make. If I could I would switch places with you,” he said, glancing away. “You deserve a happy life surrounded by your loved ones.”

This was why she loved him. His kind words and willingness to sacrifice for her and others. There were rumors he was mean and cruel to the lower ranked slayers, but he would defend any of them. He sought out the tougher missions before he was even a Hashira according to Shinobu. Always willing to risk himself for the corps. She admired his dedication and hard work. 

 The pink haired woman licked her lips in thought. Her dream was to be a wife and mother. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife, she wanted to be Iguro-san’s wife. There was clarity in the realization. Setting down her spoon in the bowl, she turned her body towards him. Her temperature rose and her cheeks colored as she decided to jump. 

“I am surrounded by those I love,” Mitsuri started. He looked up at her. “I love everyone I have met in the Corps. The Butterfly House girls, the attendants, the lower ranked members, and the other Hashira…” her voice trailed off. She had to say something more to let him know how she felt. Words escaped her. Iguro-San shifted in his seat. Kaburamaru stared intently at her in curiosity and curled tighter around his friend’s shoulders. 

“You as well, Kaburamaru-San,” she added with a grin and reached up to stroke the snake’s head. He raised his head to meet her hand. The touch forced her to relax and clear her mind. 

“Iguro-San, I love you,” Mitsuri said plainly. It didn’t need to be a great declaration of love where she prepared a long poem or gifted him with expensive gifts. No, it was clear cut. 

The man beside her was silent, but kept eye contact. He grasped his pant leg under the table, the veins becoming more prominent. She reached for his hand and held it in her lap. “If I only have six years left,” her thumb swept over the backside of his hand. “I want to spend them as your wife.” 

The man was stunned and the silence dragged. His hand squeezed hers, so he was not devoid of reaction. Her heart hammered. She could not leave this world without taking a chance. 

“Kanroji-San, I cannot offer you anything,” Iguro-San whispered. “My entire family is dead. When I chose to be a demon slayer I swore I would die fighting until Muzan was gone. I would only disappoint you,” he continued. 

“You’ve never disappointed me and you never will. You try your hardest in every endeavor you take. Why would marriage be any different?” Mitsuri asked. 

“It’s not that-“ he turned his head and looked at the wall. “I’m not good. I am a beast beneath these bandages,” he pointed to the wraps. “My family cut my face for the demon they worshiped. The demon wanted to taste my blood. I was raised to be a sacrifice and I continue to live as a sacrifice. I'm not meant to live long,” Iguro-San said as his jaw clenched. 

Mitsuri was not deterred by his words. She brought his hand to her face and kissed his fingers. “I’m not either. I only have one question and please answer truthfully, do you love me?” She asked. His posture was rigid. 

“Yes,” he breathed, “I love you.” Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart fluttered and kissed his hand again, unable to contain herself. 

“Then make a sacrifice for me. Marry me,” Mitsuri smiled at him. He twisted himself towards her, eyes wide. “Marry me. Make me your bride. Allow me to love you for the rest of my life at least. Let me love you,” Mitsuri pleaded. 

Instead of replying, Iguro-San pulled the bandages from his face and leaned forward. His lips crashed into hers. She didn’t even have enough time to process what just happened until she felt his hand curl under her jaw. Her hand found his neck and pulled him closer. Warmth spread over her body as they kissed. 

“I’ll marry you. I will make you happy, I promise,” he whispered against her lips. “Until you or I pass into the afterlife.” 

“And in our next life I’ll give you more than six years,” Mitsuri promised, “I’ll give you a lifetime.” 

[youmeanlikeolivegarden]

Alrighty. I’m late ik but finally watched the Bad Batch finale. I think I’m genuinely shocked no one died? I thought for sure it would be Crosshair especially after the whole “it’s what I deserve”. Which I’m super glad no one didn’t die but I think if they did decide to kill Crosshair off I’d be obviously upset but it would also be a good choice. Kinda weird how they just so randomly cut his hand off? I mean a lot of things were weird. I wonder if maybe they would’ve been able to do it better if they’d given us a 16th episode…. Also was anyone else getting Winter Soldier vibes when they revealed the clone assassin squad? The angle, the music… they could’ve been in cyro?? For a sec I genuinely thought they were bringing back Tech but I’m sorta glad they didn’t because that we would be way too rushed. I thought that whole scene and the whole idea was so awesome and kinda upset they killed them off minutes later. R.I.P Scorch, you shall be deeply missed my friend. I’m devastated that it’s over but overall, it was an absolutely amazing finale and I’m very happy with the ending. It means so much to me that Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair got to live a normal rest of their lives and now Omega gets to play her part.

Thank you to the creators for giving us an amazing show. 🧡

And of course thank you to all you amazing writers on Tumblr for giving us fanfics because I don’t know what I’d do without them.