Death Tw - Blog Posts

Being reminded that I’m going to die one day when I try to sleep is God’s punishment for me eating a burger with a fork and knife

Charon - Story Character References

Full Name: Derek Species: Reaper Gender: Genderfluid [ANY PRONOUNS BUT TENDS TO LEAN TOWARDS HE/HIM/HIS] Age: unknown Sexuality: Panromantic Asexual Height: seems tall but also short at the same time? No one's sure. Myer Briggs: ESFJ Voice Claim: ? STATUS: MISSING PRESUMED DEAD

Full Name: Andrea Utoqi Species: Vampiric Lizardfolk Gender: Female [She/Her/Hers] Age: Old enough Sexuality: Panromantic Pansexual Height: 7ft 2in Myer Briggs: ISTJ Voice Claim: ?

Full Name: Dedra Species: Reaper Gender: Female [She/Her/Hers] Age: Young Sexuality: Hasn't thought about it yet Height: 3ft 4in Myer Briggs: Not old enough to have fully cemented her personality Voice Claim: Catbug from Bravest Warriors

tidbids:

Andrea and Derek used to date. They decided they were better off as friends shortly after Derek was granted the title of Death. Charon was insecure about this fact but hid it.

Dedra is in a very Steven Universe situation. She's growing up in the shadow of someone who came before her while trying to figure out her own shit. She tries her best to help, but there's only so much a child can do. The adults have to help too.

Andrea was a vampire before Derek was awarded the title of Death. How she became one is something she doesn't talk about.

Who Death was before Derek is something the higher-ups don't talk about. So, no one knows.

Derek’s life before he met Andrea is a big question mark. Where he came from, what his story is, and literally anything about his past is something he never talked about

Full Name: Charon Pagano

Species: Soul Collector (formerly human)

Gender: Male [he/him/his]

Age: unknown

Birthdate: November 8th

Sexuality: Demiromantic Asexual

Height: 5ft 5 in

Myer Briggs: ISFP

Voice Claim: Virgil "Anxiety" Sanders from Sanders Sides

Related Characters: Espi; Derek, Andrea, Dedra; The Soul Collector (link to ref when it's done)

Charon was born on the streets, taken care of by drifters until they deemed they needed to drift in a different direction from a child. They weren't his parents. They didn't have responsibility towards him. No, Charon had no one to take care of him but himself. And that was fine.

He scrounged up what he could, used what others didn't need, and started getting getting minimum wage jobs as soon as people would hire him. He was hired on as simple things. But, with no formal education, he didn't have much of a chance for anything else.

Until he started overhearing dark secrets. Secrets that people wanted other people dead. And, well, they'd pay for it. Charon had two choices: turn these secret holders in and probably get hit himself for being a rat. Or get the job done.

He became a psuedo-hit man. Getting paid to kill others. It got him what he needed. He never liked that he did it, but it was what life handed him. It was fine, for a bit.

But police figured out what he was. And he was the subject of a man hunt across the united states as he fled. He was shot in a confrontation and crawled to an alley to die. He was born there, he would die there.

Death approached this dying man and felt pity for his soul. He could hear Hell calling for this man but.... Charon had been dealt a bad hand. Most people who were dealt a bad hand like this were negotiated away to purgatory- or they were condemed to hell. And Death usually didn't care. But Charon reminded him so much of another.....

Death squirreled Charon a once-in-a-blue-moon deal he couldn't refuse. He'd become a soul collector. One who would be tasked with collecting souls that Death missed and became ghosts. It was true what they said, no one could be everywhere at once. He had to collect the souls of ones who were harmful to mortals. But the ones who were minding their own buisness? Up to him as to what to do with them.

Charon accepted.

Death introduced himself as Derek, a being capable of splitting his soul off into multiple bodies so he could do his job. Derek and Charon became close as Derek taught the new soul collector the ropes. Charon felt Derek understood him, and was the closest thing that Charon had towards being a friend. Even more....

But it all came crashing down one morning. Andrea, a vampiric former guardian of Death when Death was still a new, fragil soul, came to Charon in tears. The higher ups could not find Death or his soul anywhere. And when they looked..... They found the world had created a new Death. A young girl who said her name was Dedra.

Derek was gone, as good as dead. Charon now forces himself to focus on the task he has been given. Pick up the slack from the new Death and gather souls as best he can. He just tells himself that when he's paid back his debt... He'll look for Derek's soul himself. The higher ups had to have missed something. Overlooked a small detail- something. Derek couldn't be gone.

ABOUT THE SOUL IN A JAR:

Watson was gifted to Charon when Derek was still around. This soul seems to be trapped in a magic jar that makes the heavenly powers unable to detect the soul or judge it properly, and therefore was left until it could be judged. The jar cannot be opened, no matter how hard anyone tries. It can't be broken either. It seems invincible. Derek wanted Charon to "take care" of Watson, as he didn't have time to watch over the soul anymore.

But I Did What I Thought That I Had To

Which is bad too!

I thought that I could take it,

All the hate could just be shaken,

But when you lo- care for someone,

Not much hurts more than their scorn.

Pushing the button will cause you to almost always have perfect health.

Here's how it works: When you develop something that you consciously consider a health problem, the next time you sleep you will wake up next to your body. It is now dead. In a maximum of two hours a new body will form around you that is just how the previous one would have been without the problem. If you were sick, no longer sick. If you lost an arm, it's back. If you were born with one arm but want two, you have two now. If you decided that human bodies (or just yours) have a flawed design and have ideas for how it could be improved, you have the improvements. Yes, this can be things about your mind that you want to change. Etc. You can figure this out I think. Of course, you will need to do something about the corpses. And each time this happens, you look just slightly more uncanny.

📂?

Thank you Hun! Hope your doing well.❤ Ok so the new spoilers got me thinking. This is also a bit inspired by a conversation in bunny's server.

TW // SPOILERS AND DEATH

~~~

JUST SO YOU KNOW THAT ISNT FUYUMI. THIS HC IS IF SHE WAS.

Ok so. For a second we thought that this was Fuyumi in the panel, trying to save her lover.

Obviously that isn't her but that got me thinking of a headcannon... what if that was Fuyumi and her partner?

WHAT IF Her partner was planning on proposing next week but was ya know? dying? so he gives it to her. She's sobbing. He is proclaimed dead when the paramedics arrived. His final words were asking her to promise that they marry eachother in the next life.

Her future at having a good life. Her lover. Gone.

Extra angst: if she was pregnant. Her chance of giving a life to a child, a future to give that she didnt get. Now without her sweetheart. But highly unlikely.

It's more like she wanted a family with him but now she can't, because he's gone.

He just pulls the box out and slowly gives it to her and the paramedics arrive. He passes away due to blood loss and getting crushed.

Fuyumi is heartbroken.

She thought the death of Touya was accidental or something. So now she knows that her dad was worse than she thought, her brother is alive and her partner, her lover, her chance of a good future is dead. Her SWEETHEART is DEAD.

Why do I make myself cry like this?

We know that Dabi killed civilians by his own choice. He could've gone and killed Endeavour himself but chose to kill.

The whole army riot thing is a part of it? He chooses to bring this shit down on us. And what happened to Fuyumi...

Seeing her brother like this...knowing he was a part of this. Part of her love's death...someone she truly wanted a life with... that would break her. Absolutely destroy her.

This is what the ring looks like. It's eccentric because they were always an eccentric couple.

The gemstones are rose quarts (meaning love) and lapis lazuli (meaning royalty, honor, vision).

That adds to the pain if you ask me.

Ngl that ring is beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

~~~

I made myself sob doing this. I cry. Anyways I hope this satisfies y'all. Hope you have a nice day and take care. ❤

rip rum :( honestly im surprised he lived this long, he was 257 moons old

“Good night, Gon”

happy holidays. please don’t hate me

I would pay A LOT of money to see that. Get fucked Ben Sharpie🫧

Hayao Miyazaki transformed into a human-sized AOT Titan and fought Ben Shapiro to the death.

I don’t know how I got there.

Or, rather, I’m not sure.

Last I’d remembered, I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by my family. My husband, my daughter, and a couple doctors were standing by. I held my husband’s hand tight as I had gone into a seizure, side effect of an inoperable brain tumor. I’m fairly certain I died.

Yet here I was. On a rain-soaked street in what appeared to be any town in the Midwest, a bar in front of me, with two neon signs – a pretty typical ‘open’ sign, and a glowing white, cursive word – Purgatorio.

Not knowing what else to do, I went up to the door, tried to push it open, and the door held fast. I looked down, saw the sign that said ‘pull’, and obeyed. The door opened with ease, and I found myself in an empty bar – well, mostly. A man stood behind the counter, wearing a white dress-shirt, black jeans, a tie, and a black apron. He was wiping down the bar with a grey rag, and music – some folk rock band – played quietly from the speakers. As I walked in, a bell rang, and the man looked up.

He was a young man on the cusp of middle age, with black hair, pale green eyes, and a pierced right ear. He seemed unsurprised, and he called me forward. “Well,” he said, “Come in, have a drink.”

He pulled a bottle of whiskey from beneath the counter, and a tumbler glass. Getting ice from an old-fashioned machine behind him and putting some into the glass, he gestured me towards him again. “Come on, boy. You haven’t got much time until someone comes to collect you. It’s good to have a guest.”

I moved forward, and sat down in a leather stool at the bar. He poured whiskey into the glass and handed it to me. I looked at it, and then at his expectant face. “I don’t have any money,” I said, patting my clothing to look for a wallet I was pretty sure I lacked. I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt under a simple grey hoodie. And no, I did not have a wallet, much less my own.

“I don’t want money,” he laughed. “I’m not in this for cash.”

He leaned in, and said in a voice alight with childish glee, “I do this for the stories. I’d like to hear yours, or as much of it as you want to share.”

I looked at him, and saw his nametag. It read, “Hello, my name is: Dante A.”

“What is this place? Why am I here?”

He poured another couple fingers of whiskey into the tumbler and gestured for me to drink. I took a sip. It was a good whiskey.

“Well, kid, you’re dead. Sorry to have to break it to you like this.”

Caught in the middle of another sip of whiskey, I gagged a little. “I can’t be dead – I’m here.”

He nodded. “Logical. But answer me this – where is here?”

Looking me up and down, he continued. “Because last you remember, you were somewhere else. It may have been a hospital bed, or in a car, or at home going to bed – but you woke up here, right outside my bar.”

He stepped away a couple steps and wiped down another part of the table. “As to your family, who are they? Tell me about them.”

I looked at him as suspiciously as I could, but it made a weird kind of sense. I began to speak, and the words poured out. He listened intently, nodding along as he cleaned up the bar. I told him how I’d met my husband – at a pride rally, in 2003. We’d fought tooth and nail for what we had – all the way up until our marriage was legalized and we could get married in our home state of Virginia. We settled down, opened up a book shop, and adopted our daughter.

All the while, while I droned on and on about my family, Dante looked like he was having the time of his life. He didn’t speak, only prodding me for more details. My daughter’s school teachers, what were they like? My husband, what was he like? He seemed insatiable in his lust for more information.

I drank as I spoke, and Dante refilled my glass each time I emptied it, and I found myself laughing at my own retelling, as I finished story after story. It felt like hours had passed.

Finally, I stopped. “Is this it?” I asked him, not feeling particularly drunk at the moment.

He looked at me, a twinkle in his eyes, and said, “Not even close.”

He leaned against the bar which he had finished cleaning, and looked out the rain-beaten windows at the front of the establishment. He seemed to fade off a little bit. I got his attention again, “I mean, is this all there is for the rest of eternity? Just sitting here and talking to you?”

He laughed. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Shrugging, I began again. “I mean – what about heaven? What about hell?”

He poured himself a glass and refilled mine. “What about heaven? What about hell?”

“Do they exist?”

Taking a sip, he spoke. “Yes, they do. I’ve seen them both.”

“And what’s this place?”

“A halfway point, sort of. For souls to wait for their guides.”

“Guides?”

“Angels, for the good. Devils for the bad. I get what I can out of those who come through. I remember your mother, when she came through. She said a lot about you.”

My mother had died some fifteen years ago. She was probably the most supportive person I’d ever known, and the first person I came out to. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had sat here, talking for hours to the same person I was, sharing stories of her life.

“Who came for her? Angel or devil?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know who comes for who, only that they do.”

“And what about you? Did anyone come for you? Will anyone come for you?”

He shrugged again. “I’m happy here, I built this place. I listen to stories. I guess that’s always been my job and my dream.”

“Do you ever want to move on?”

He paused, shrugged a final time, and then he perked up. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, your story, your life? We’re nearing the end of your time here.”

“Where do you think I’ll go?”

He grabbed my hands, and looked me in the eye. “Look at me. Listen. You are the only judge of your life. Where do you think you deserve to go?”

I was a little dumbstruck. “I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of people tell me I’m going to hell.”

Dante looked up at the ceiling, muttered something in what sounded Italian, and looked back at me. “Well, in the words of the great Lewis Black, fuck them.”

“I’ve seen good people, I’ve seen bad. I’m not a judge, but most I can tell plain as day. And you, my friend, are not a bad-“

I heard a rapping at the door. Outside was standing a plain-looking man, dressed in a suit and tie, with steel-grey hair and an unyielding disposition. I looked at Dante. “What do you think?”

“Go,” he said, waving me on. “Go to where you belong.”

I walked back out through the door, and the man looked at me.

“You the new arrival?”

Looking back, at Dante, now thoroughly wiping the table again. “I suppose,” I said.

“Good. Would you step into the vehicle, please?”

I looked at the car behind the man. Black and simply-built, it looked solid enough. He opened the door, and I sat inside. He went around to the other side, got into the driver’s seat, and began to drive.

“Where are we going?”

He looked at me in the mirror, a stern expression on his face. Cracking a smile, he began to speak.

“On,” he said.

After you die, you expected an afterlife or either Heaven, or Hell. Instead you find yourself standing in front of a pub named ‘Purgatorio.’

🐀 No. 6 - Rodent -🐀

My thoughts on the recent Techno stream

First it was Ghostbur, then it was Foolish, I was hoping for a break after Charlie but NO they fucking kill Ranboo in Techno’s new lore stream and Dream is out of prison.  WHAT THE FUCK???? AND THE PERSON WHO KILLED RANBOO WAS ALSO ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK I’M FUCKING-

You wanna know what really happens to your brothers in the future?! They die. Everybody dies fighting the Krang!

Friend: *kills hinself*

My fucking, shit-brain: death? You like death?? You want some dreams of death??? Have some nightmares of people being mauled or run over! Have nightmares of your past friends and old teachers chasing you while tying to kill you!! Have a nightmare of your mom planing to kill you!!!

You LOVE death right?

Me: I'd rather die from exhaustion then sleep.

Brain: not good enough? Wanna imagine your nephew being murdering by someone gouging his eyes out?? Wanna imagine him falling down some stairs and smashing his head open??? I can do that! I'll even make you think about him being kidnapped!! Or maybe even just him suffocating in his sleep!!!

DONT YOU JUST L O V E DEATH???

One of our girl bunnies gave birth to at least 10 babies saturday before last, 2 were already dead when we found them.

4 were gray and tan and the other 4 were completely black.

Only 4 survived until tuesday of the following week. The 4 black ones. One died one sunday, and three on monday.

Tuesday -the day I got punished for drawing a picture- there were still alive.

Two more died -one a day- before I took the remaining two away from their mother.

She had been letting them die and them eating them.

I took care of those last two since then.

One of them was sick and died this monday.

The last one died this morning.

I had been keeping it (I kept both of them in it) in a small box -made nest with a giant sweater and a heated sock full of rice.

Last night/this morning it somehow got out and got into the dog cage.

We have three, small, very old, blind, and mostly deaf dogs.

One of which fucking loves puppies/anything reassembling puppies.

The last baby was loved to death. And with the description my mom, who found it, gave me... It's a horrible way to die.

I don't know why I'm not upset.

I don't know why I'm posting this.

blood & confetti I

Humans are unstoppable...Until they aren’t.

I’m not the most eloquent writer, but I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured I’d put it out into the universe.

A lot of the basis for the “humans are space orcs” stuff is the idea that we’re pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that don’t kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress. 

But that doesn’t make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesn’t mean it’s fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least it’s probably quick.

So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- there’s a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, ‘welp, guess we’ll die then’. But then.

BUT THEN

They ask the human. Because everyone’s heard the stories - you’re basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says ‘Yeah, I could fix it’. And the rest of the crew is like, ‘Whaaaaaa, it won’t kill you?’ and the human repeats “I can fix it” (which isn’t an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send ‘em in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, they’re entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest station’s bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, ‘those crazy humans, amiright?’.

The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first it’s just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. They’ll be fine. Humans are always fine. 

(Right?)

(…Wrong.)

- What is… help. Help!-

- ake up! You have t-

- been days. You need sleep, you-

- nother transfusion. We could-

- out of sedatives!-

A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.

‘Be careful with your humans’ it whispers. ‘Their strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they don’t do something they can’t come back from, because when a human dies… they die slowly.’

I think about my grandmother a lot more now that she's gone. She was a complicated woman but knowing I'll never see her again hurts me more than anything I could fathom her being while she was alive. I'd like to think she's at a beach where the sun shines forever in her afterlife

Even now, I vividly remember the color of the rising sun I saw then. All to easily, memories of the beggining summon memories from the end. The things that slipped through my fingers, the people I couldn’t protect…

So this was a tik tok I made a couple weeks ago that I realized I never posted on here. It’s based on the danganronpa AU for LM3 my friend made. It’s a bit rough since I did it at 1 am but I hope you guys like it and I’m actually working on a part 2 for it right now