#death tw ;

[littlequackerman]

GUYS I just finished the last archon quest and I'm having so many thoughts about capitano...

Imagine reader falling for capitano while hes staying in natlan, but they have a terminal illness (maybe even related to the abyss like atea's was). They don't want to be a burden to him, he has such important goals he has no choice but to reach and they dont want to waste his time, considering they're going to pass on soon anyways.

And capitano has feelings for the reader, but doesn't want to confess because he knows he's going to die in his deal with the Lord of the night, and even if that doesn't succeed, he's still dealing with too much from the souls he carries and his curse to properly have a relationship with them

So reader doesn't confess, and soon they end up dying from their illness, and they go down to the night kingdom for the afterlife, and guess who they find?

Fucking capitano.

And he's dead!! Well, not actually dead, but actually fused with the Lord of the night, which is somehow even more insane than if he was just dead.

And capitanos surprised cause he thought they'd get old with some random natlanese guy, and hed he stuck dead fused with the Lord but then he finds out they had a terminal illness all this time???

And so you two get to spend time you didn't think you'd have together in the afterlife, and it's really nice lol

[ihfmseatsoch]

go ahead and ignore it if it makes you uncomforatble, ill get the hint

but uummmmmm maybe something from jimmy's pov where he finds a girl at the bar, gets her drunk, has sex with her, and chokes to death? corpsefucker jim is my hyperfixation rn not gonna lie

aaaa sorry this took a lil while ! ive been sick and very sleepy

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 2.2k

warnings/content: dead dove, noncon, coercion, manipulation, choking, murder, necro, jim being misogynistic

—

It was almost embarrassing, how easy some women are. At least their willingness to spread their legs for any man that came their way made it less of a hassle to get in their pants, Jimmy thought.

Pussy is pussy, no matter how you get it, or how many men have had it before you.

That's why he's not very particular when it comes to choosing some trashy whore to spend the night with. Looks, of course, is the main factor he pays attention to, but that's about it. Doesn't matter if she's annoying, unwilling, or bitchy; he'll never see her again, anyway.

He takes interest in a young girl sitting in the corner of the shitty bar he regulars, a drink in her hand and an aura of innocence surrounding her. She's alone and out of place, eyes darting around the room like she's overwhelmed by all the different noises, and the pungent scent of alcohol pervading the stuffy air. Plus, she's not bad looking, pretty by any standard.

Could the opportunity be any more perfect?

Jimmy gets up from his barstool and approaches her, leaning against the counter, a little too close to her for comfort, not that he gives a fuck about how she feels in the first place.

"Hey. You alright?" He feigns concern, "Ain't never seen you here before."

She has the demeanor of a frightened rabbit, ready to scamper away at the slightest sound or sense of danger. The girl's got pretty eyes, he notices, as she looks up at him with apprehension. He bets her daddy at home warned her about all the dangerous men that want to take advantage of a sweet thing like her. Jimmy almost pities the man that raised her.

She explains that it's her twenty first birthday. Ah, so she's one of the ripest on the branch, it seems. That's how he likes 'em. The younger, the dumber. Her friends are already plastered, throwing up in the bathroom. In harsher words, she was ditched.

Jimmy pretends to feel some kind of sympathy for her situation, while he's already coming up with a plan on how to steal her away and tarnish her purity.

"Your friends are a buncha assholes then. They just leave you high and dry like that?"

With a shake of her head, she smiles a little, already looking at him with complete trust. "They're usually nice... just not when they're drunk, I guess." She defends the very people that selfishly abandoned her. He can tell this won't be hard for him at all.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, a little too sweetly for someone with such vile intent.

It's obvious a man has never spoken to her like this. Flirtatiously. Her flushed cheeks give away that she's either a virgin, or just very inexperienced. Cute. She tells him her name, but if he's being honest, he forgot in about five minutes. Her name doesn't hold much significance to him, anyway.

Introducing himself was the first step. Now, onto the second. Buy her a drink. Alcohol will loosen her up nicely.

"What kinda drink you want? I'm buying."

She orders something sweet and fruity. It suits her. He flags down the bartender, hoping the drink is strong enough to give her a good buzz. In other words, easier to take home.

When their drinks are ready, he clinks the rim of his glass to hers. "To your first legal drink." He says, his smile deceptively warm, tipping the glass back and downing the whole thing in one go. She takes a little longer to drink hers, drinking in small, irritatingly cautious sips. That won't do. He doesn't want to be here all night.

"You're doin' it wrong," He invasively grabs her wrist, "C'mon, you gotta drink it all at once."

He guides the glass to her lips, coaxing her to take his advice. He watches her hesitate, before she mimics him and swallows it all down in one gulp, wincing as the tart liquid burns going down her throat, the flavor lingering on her taste buds.

Jimmy is a more than pleased at her obedience.

"There ya go. Atta girl." He praises, intentionally making her feel proud of herself so she continues to crave his validation and listen to his every word. He orders a round of shots, moreso for her than for himself. He needs to be sober enough to drive her back to his place, after all.

Jimmy intently observes her as she takes shot after shot, becoming increasingly more drunk. She's a giggly one, blathering about every thought on her mind. Jim nods and hums absentmindedly, not having any interest in actually conversing with her.

"Alright, I think you're done for the night. Time to get you home." He pulls her up off the stool and wraps an arm around her waist to support her weight.

Confused at his sudden insistence on leaving, she places her hands on his chest, stopping him from dragging her any further. "N– No, I'm good! I can handle a little more..." Her words slur, eyes glazed over. This will be a little harder than he initially thought. He has to repress the urge to roll his eyes.

"You can barely walk. C'mon, I'll drive. You'll thank me in the morning."

To her drunken mind, what he's saying makes sense. "Oh... M'kay." She mumbles, too intoxicated to question how he knows where her house even is, and in truth, he doesn't, but he's not taking her home.

She's going to his.

Jimmy keeps a tight grip on her as he leads her out of the bar towards his parked car. She's stumbling the whole way and leaning against him far more than she should. "Whoa, whoa. Careful, now." He says, though it lacks any sort of real concern for her well-being.

The drive back to his apartment feels longer with her babbling to him about pointless stories that he can hardly comprehend because she's recalling every event out of order. Jimmy has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her to shut up. He'll get plenty of use out of her mouth soon enough.

"Yeah, yeah. That's great." He says absentmindedly as she babbles on. He makes a show to listen, adding an occasional hum or wordless response to her ramblings, but he's only focused on getting her to his door. Finally, he parks the car and cuts off her incoherent chattering. "We're here."

It took her until now to realize she's not where she's supposed to be. "Umm... That's not my apartment." She points out, as Jimmy helps her out of the passenger seat, grabbing her arm to lead her along with him, leaving no room for her to protest or pull away.

"I'm takin' care of you tonight. Can't leave you home alone, you'll end up doin' something stupid." The way he lies without flinching is convincing enough to the inebriated woman, allowing him to drag her to his floor, and into his home.

The interior is messy, empty liquor bottles and cans laid on various surfaces, not excluding the floor, either. Half-smoked cigarettes fill an ashtray on the coffee table, a variety of trash littered in every corner. He won't bother cleaning up, of course. She's not here to judge how he lives.

"Sit." He gestures to his ratty couch. Jimmy speaks more like he's ordering her, rather than offering her a place to rest out of the kindness of his heart. She obeys nonetheless, collapsing onto the torn cushions. Fortunately, she can't properly notice the filth with double vision. Unfortunately, she doesn't know what she's in for.

He sits himself down next to her, too close, invading her personal space. He takes her chin in his hand and tilts her head around, studying her. "You're a pretty little thing, ain't you?" His arm snakes around her shoulder, pulling her close against him.

Lacking her usual judgement and reflexes, she let's him run his hands all over her, albeit confused as to why he's touching her like this in the first place. "Uhh... My boyfriend's not gonna like you doing that..." She tells him, inarticulately.

Jimmy laughs dryly, "Aww, your boyfriend wouldn't like it? And where is he if he cares about you so much, hm?" He lets his hand continue downward, tracing the curve of her ass. She recoils slightly, much to his displeasure. "I don't think I should do this..." She attempts to back away from him, but his grip is stuck firmly in place, her body forcibly pressed to his.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disappointment, "And here I thought you were a good girl. I've been so nice to you, haven't I? You should be thanking me." He gruffly tells her, his fake compassion long gone.

Jimmy pushes her to her back carelessly rough, grabbing her wrists in one hand to pin them above her head. He utilizes his free hand to pull her skirt up, bunching it at her waist. Thankfully, she's too stupid to fight back right now, her mind barely processing what's happening to her, unable to understand the danger she's in.

He takes two fingers to rub her pussy through her underwear, feeling her clit twitch at the contact. She squirms ineffectively, trapped under him. "N– Nooo..." She whines, kicking her legs weakly, yet despite her resistance, her slick begins to dampen the fabric. He hums in satisfaction at the sight of her body betraying her.

"If you don't want it, why's this little cunt all wet for me?" Jimmy pulls her underwear to the side, uncovering her glistening folds, spreading them to get a better look at her. She whimpers, ashamed that she's enjoying the way he toys with her pussy, as if it's not even attached to a human being.

He pinches her swollen clit just to watch her jolt. She attempts to close her legs, but he pins down her thighs with his knees, trapping her under his weight and keeping them spread apart. "You're not gettin' away from me," he grunts, "Not after I've put in so much effort gettin' you here."

Jimmy unzips his jeans, slipping his cock out through his open fly. He's already hard. He's been hard since the moment he finally got his hands on her. He runs his girthy, flushed tip up and down her wet slit, making her whine every time he repeatedly nudges against her rock hard bundle of nerves.

"Y' like that, huh? You're all the same once you get a bit of alcohol in your system. Just a bunch of cock hungry fuckin' sluts." Jim presses into her hole without warning, eliciting a gasp from her at the sudden intrusion. "I'll tell you what, though," he hisses through his teeth, "You've got one of the best holes I've ever felt."

Jim rams into her, his pace already relentless, and he's only just begun. Her body jerks at every brutal thrust, the sound of his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against her ass, along with his heavy breathing and the occasional grunt filling the room. "That's all you're– shit– good for though, isn't it? This little pussy's the best thing you've got goin' for ya."

Both his hands find their way to her throat, squeezing uncomfortably tight. She tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp, or at least into a more comfortable position, but he firmly holds her down in place, supporting more of his weight directly onto her windpipe. She tries to gasp for air, claw at his arms and shoulders to get him to stop, but nothing works. Ice cold fear washes over her body when she realizes she can't breathe anymore. She can't even scream at him to get off of her, let alone speak.

"Sorry bout' this. I was tired of your fuckin' whining. You don't mind, do you?" He chuckles lowly to himself, leading her to believe that this is what he wants. He's intentionally trying to kill her. That only makes her panic more as she becomes lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, her limbs weakened and unable to properly writhe underneath him. Not that it'd help her anyway. All she can feel is his hands on her, cutting off her airway, lungs burning and eager for oxygen, and his cock pounding ruthlessly hard into her, bruising her insides.

Even when she falls unconscious and limp, her face turned a light shade of blue, he doesn't stop. "Better finish up while you're still warm, huh?" Jimmy huffs, fucking into her like he hates her, although he has no real reason to. "Cold pussy doesn't sound very appealing."

She's much more likeable when she's dead, he thinks. Quiet, laying there like an obedient little doll, her only purpose being to take his dick. He's not sure if she's actually dead yet, but taking the time to check her pulse doesn't exactly cross his mind.

He finishes inside her, a deep growl ripping from his chest, hot spurts of cum filling her hole to the brim. He finally removes his hands from her throat after he catches his breath, a ring of fresh, fingerprint shaped bruises around her neck. She's not breathing, her eyes still open, wide with the same fear she felt before he killed her. Jimmy pulls out of her with a sigh, like she's inconveniencing him by being dead.

"Fuck. You're gonna be a pain in the ass to hide, ain't you?" He grumbles, lighting a Newport and taking a long drag. "There's a... forest or somethin' a ways away from the city. That'll be a good spot for ya."

Jimmy himself is unsure if he's speaking aloud to himself, or the lifeless corpse laying on the couch beside him.

—

[thebramblewood]

Micah finally makes good on her promise to attend Afterlife Anonymous... only to be tasked with another quest.

Beginning / Previous / Next

Esther: I’ve heard you’re doing favors. Many here were made promises of cake by an overgrown houseplant. It deceived them, of course, and they met their ends. But still they yearn for a taste.

Micah: You want me to bake a cake… for a bunch of ghosts… who probably can’t even eat it?

-

Micah: You’re actually pretty cute! Hard to believe you’re a killer. My brother had a plant like you once, but it didn’t last long. I guess now I know why.

-

Cassie: And where are you sneaking back from at this hour?

Micah: Oh my God, Grandma! You’re still awake?

Cassie: Out of body experience? Afterlife Anonymous? Angry ghost child in a well? You’ve only been here a few weeks and already have an entire book to write!

[hazmat-delites]

There's a reason you can't transport fireworks on passenger crafts!

Here's some safety information from the American Pyrotechnics Association!

"If you were going to choose a metaphor for our current state of politics, a Tesla Cybertruck exploding and burning in front of a Trump Tower in a city where millions of Americans go each year to lose their money, is pretty spot on," wrote New York Health Campaign executive director Melanie D'Arrigo.

[crackwashing]

How Jimmy actually died

Jimmy had a concussion and dreamed up the whole Mouthwashing story. Curly wanted to be a good friend and lend his friend a soft spot to lean on (his boobs). But his boobs were so big Jimmy was completely engulfed and suffocated

[one-time-i-dreamt]

@pukicho was killed while wearing a Pikachu suit, and it was announced on this blog.

[feefal]

Torn between life and death

[spamton]

i accidentally napped and had a dream (nightmare?) where a new update for stardew valley released where everything was the same except on a random day in year 3 Evelyn would just straight up die. There was a whole cutscene that started in her house where she collapsed, and then transitioned over to the hospital where Harvey gave George and Alex the worst news of their lives. However, they got to speak to her where she said something along the lines of "Yoba will protect me, and I am sure he will let me watch over you."

Alex and George would not talk to the player for more than a few words for a full season after this event. George would spend most of his time in the bedroom, so if you had less than 2 hearts with him, you could barely ever speak to him.

And Alex... oh my god, poor Alex. If you were married to him during this event, he just stayed in bed all day. Otherwise, if single, he would just stand on the beach most of the time, staring off into the ocean. If you tried to interact with him, it would just say "Alex is grieving... Better leave him be."

There was also other NPC dialogue like mayor Lewis saying "I haven't seen the community in this state of mourning since your grandfather passed..."

there was also a glitch where you could make Evelyn live forever and there were entire guides for the "immortal Evelyn glitch" that got patched out in the next update. If you tried to perform the glitch after the patch, mr. Qi would tell you that "hey, it happens to all of us. We can't prevent it, and neither can you, no matter how hard you try."

[compassionatereminders]

Hey did y'all ever think about that if doctors blame all fat people's medical issues on them being too fat without proper investigation and then feel justified in neglecting their medical concerns, then statistically more fat people WILL develop and potentially die from serious health issues and it might not actually be because of the fat when everything comes down to it

[destielmemenews]

"Former One Direction singer Liam Payne died outside a hotel in the Argentine capital Buenos Aires, local media reported on Wednesday, saying the 31-year-old British musician was found dead after falling from the hotel's third floor.

Citing officials, leading local newspapers La Nacion and Clarin reported that police were called to the hotel in the capital's leafy Palermo neighborhood responding to an emergency call that cited "an aggressive man who could be under the effects of drugs and alcohol.""

source 1

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source 3

[hughesxmaes]

He saw that beautiful smile of his and that was what made his heart soar. He couldn't help but watch him as he spoke to him. Maes heart fluttering and he could feel himself giddy even for the fact that this happened, though that only lasted for a bit before he admitted how he truly felt for Roy.

Maes didn't expect to see this man cry so hard over his words, it caught him off guard. His heart tightening as he watched this man hide his face in his shoulder and sob.

Maes didn't say anything he just wrapped his arms around him and held him close, he let him wail. It was the first time he saw this man break down the way he did.

Did Maes say something wrong?

He sure hoped not, but if he did he was sure Roy would tell him eventually. He knew that Roy hardly ever cried this hard and it felt like he was the only one to see such a sight and all he could do was let him lean against his shoulder. A hand against the back of Roy's head as he continued to hear the loud sobbing that had been coming out of him.

Maes would always be here for this man. He wouldn't dare leave his side, even if he didn't feel the same like he thought he did. His heart remained open for Roy. If they had to take their time with things he was willing to do that.

There were things he hadn't realized about Roy. How Roy felt about him for all those years. He had been oblivious to everything and if that were the case if he have said something now, Maes would feel guilty having not notice him like he should have. He was already feeling guilty for not noticing his very own feelings for Roy.

He squeezes the man softly, letting him know that he's not moving or going anywhere. He wants him to see that this wasn't a dream, that this was really happening. They were in this room together expressing how they feel for one another. Even if it was taking both of them this long to say or admit to anything.

"It's okay, Roy. I'm here... I'm here." He whispers, the other hand rubbing Roy's back to comfort him, to let him see that Maes was HERE and he was alive and he was so very much in love with Roy Mustang.

At his request, Maes brought him back up to stand. Roy couldn’t shake his smile as his gaze lingered on hazel eyes. Was it silly he wanted to laugh? To sing? To run through the streets of Central while holding this man���s hand? One kiss, and he felt like the world was his for the taking.

He was alive. Breathing. In love. 

He knew he said they needed to talk, but God did he want to skip that conversation for a minute or two. Maybe five. An hour? They had years of kissing to catch up on. No, they didn’t have to cram it all into one night, but if Maes wanted to cram his tongue into his mouth, Roy wouldn’t mind. Caressing his cheek like this made the thought all the more tempting—and Maes let him. 

Later. There would be kissing later.

“I’d still like you to state the obvious,” he replied with a smirk. Obvious attraction, right? Or, was he missing something? 

Six words, and he felt himself plummeting into the sea. 

Saltwater was quick to adorn his cheeks as it left his eyes. It filled his lungs, and his breath hitched. The frigidity of it all made him shiver. He didn’t move, unsure if he could—oh, but he wanted to wrap his arms around himself to keep this fragile body together. Had he not put himself back together with fire not too long ago? He was supposed to be stronger, not this—this—whatever this broken mess of a man was.

Maes Hughes loved him. He was in love with him for as long as they knew one another. Therein lay the tragedy. 

He realized this after he married Gracia. He had no idea his friend stood before him that day with his heart in pieces, smiling to hide the fractures. No idea that it broke for the first time on the day he chose never to tell the cadet who stole his quiche that he loved him. No idea how many times he had to repair it when he heard stories of his best friend’s family. No idea what sort of sounds emitted from his throat when he learned the only one he ever loved no longer walked this Earth.

The days he bowed in front of his grave like Achilles, clutching Baby’s breath and gardenias and hoping no one knew what they meant. The nights he woke up screaming, sobbing, or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey as he tried to drown in something other than salt water. Maes knew none of that. 

Alas, Roy remembered. Even as Maes put their foreheads together, saying and asking things he always longed to hear, he couldn’t bring himself to smile. Instead, his entire body quaked, including the clenched fist at his side. The dam broke as the tears poured out of closed eyes. His head tilted downwards, bowing before the grave of the love he thought he lost. Wails escaped his mouth before he could think to stop them and ask why they occurred. Why was he crying at a good thing? He didn’t understand.

Words couldn’t come out. Nothing but wails did, ones he needed to silence. Planting his face in Maes’ shoulder solved that problem, both hands now clinging to fabric as if it was the only piece of wood in the middle of the sea, but it gave them both new ones. He didn’t answer any of what Maes said, particularly his question. He went from smiling to an ocean of tears with no explanation, which had to be confusing. He was loud, probably hurting this man’s poor ears. He couldn’t talk, a problem that simply didn’t occur before because he was Roy Mustang of all people. 

How could he tell Maes that he wanted him more than anything in the world? Forget the Presidency. If he didn’t have the one man who believed in him first, what was even the goddamn point? 

[elizabro]

aaron bushnell knew exactly what he was doing. he states his intentions with total lucidity and sense of purpose. he knows what he's about to do is extreme--he says so. he speaks calmly, but he's clearly terrified. he takes a deep breath after pouring the accelerant over himself. he has to psyche himself up to light the flame. he struggles with the lighter. he says "free palestine" normally once before he starts to scream it. even through his agony he manages to say it one last time before he stops being able to speak at all. this is a man with total conviction. he wanted to help people, in any way possible. this action was a moral one, and any news outlet painting this as simply a mental health issue is a disservice to his memory. he knew what he was doing when he burned himself in uniform. he knew that there was a chance that sacrificing his own life could go on to save many others. this was the ultimate act of selflessness, and it should be treated as such. may he rest in peace.

[podcastwizard]

ideal ways for me to die

1. old age, peacefully in my sleep

2. after a long and illustrious career i am at a rooftop gala hosted in my honor. i am wearing a beautiful gown, holding a glass of red wine, standing by the railing. a scorned lover approaches and, after a passionate spat, they push me over the edge of the building. the wine glass goes flying, splattering their outfit in red as a visual metaphor for the blood on their hands. as i descend my gown flies around me like two beautiful wings, a bird in flight. a photographer on the street manages to take a photo before i hit the ground and that photo wins the pulitzer. a new york times think piece is released regarding whether or not it's moral to profit off a photo of someone's death. the think piece also wins a pulitzer.

3. sex accident.

[decapod-appreciator]

might be heaven and it might be hell

[96z]

the fact that the report [ file available at the bottom of this page ] listing every person who has been killed in palestine since oct 7th is over 210 pages long is fucking insane. the first of the 88 names are from one family. after that, the following 72 are from one family. one family. i am asking you from the bottom of my heart, do not become desensitized to these numbers. 7,028 killed. 2,913 of them children. thousands missing under the rubble. do not ever let these numbers be anything but shocking and disturbing to you.

[420technoblazeit]

has anybody else seen the bit in tommy's new video yet. where he asks mumbo jumbo if he can revive technoblade with redstone. bc that actually made my jaw DROP hol yshit. the pause just before he says it. you can hear the gears turning in phil's head as he realizes what tommy's about to say. the immediate psychic damage. truly horrid thank you tommy. ik techno would be losing it over that joke