#only one scene left to write

[ravenrambles6229]

chapter 18 soon

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Normal boy spotted.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[lotus-pear]

it's not BSD if Asagiri keeps killing all the main characters 😭😭😭😭😭

might aswell be called No More Stray Dogs 🤡😭😭😭💀🔥 (the roof did smth to me ;-; HELP)

asagiri is starting to parallel gege more and more and i’m not sure i fucking like that….

[helloliriels]

Nearly done with my FTH fic!!!!!!

Me at the start of the race year ...

My distractions procrastination training attempting to write ...

Seeing the finish line, at last in my sights ...!!!

[super-paper]

Leaving my mad-at-izuku era and entering my mad-for-izuku era

What do you mean the cumulation of his arc was all about how much he ~inspires others~ to reach out and do their best only for literally no one to be there for him in a way that actually matters while he’s spending pretty much the entire epilogue wallowing in misery.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

thinking sashisu thoughts rn ………… suguru was the least desensitized of the three and that’s why he was the first to break . explodes

[dyketennant]

oh i can already tell i’m about to have some really unpopular opinions about the edge of sleep tv show

[chirpsythismorning]

I just remembered they devoted a whole scene to Mike and Will burying a dead body for no reason other than to poke fun at—

[mirrortouchedsea]

dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tries not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next, if they bothered to keep track of that. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read the letters on the page, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, careful of the pages that were falling apart, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp. 

the room the boy lives in, the only room he has memories of, is empty besides himself and the book. sometimes the people above would give him water and stale bread to eat, and then there was a cup and a dirty plate, but otherwise it was just the boy and the book. the boy knows why the people above have locked him away, they told him that he was a freak of nature, unnatural, dangerous. but the boy could only make lights in his palm, and that wasn’t very dangerous at all. he thinks to himself that the people above are the dangerous ones, locking away a child for something like this, but he can’t say that out loud. he doesn’t want to die again. 

the boy’s stomach grumbles and he curls in on himself, the light in his palm fades out. he longs to see the sun again, to play with the other children he can hear through the ceiling, to be normal. the people above must have decided to punish him again, though, as he doesn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink, to eat. his stomach would eat through his skin and he would still wake up the next day. why can’t he just die once and for all and be rid of the pain? why is the world keeping him here? why was he even born?

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much. 

--- 

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times, but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass? 

--- 

a clattering on the floor wakes the boy up. the people above decided he can eat today. stale bread and water again, but better than nothing to the boy. he crawls closer to it, listening to the door. it closes and the voices disappear. where was the sound of the lock? did they forget? 

the boy scarfs down his food and water before tiptoeing up the stairs. he doesn’t hear any voices, but he needs to be careful. he doesn’t remember what the above looks like, but he needs to leave. he needs to be free. 

slowly, quietly, he opens the door. it’s dark on the other side of it, but still much, much brighter than his room ever was. he closes his eyes but keeps the door open. breathe in, and out. opens his eyes again, blinking the brightness away. pushes the door further open. steps on the hard ground outside the door. he’s so close. closes the door quietly. turns around and holds his breath. where was outside? pick a direction and go. his legs hurt. turn the corner, listen for voices. voices are dangerous, get away from the voices. whisper his spell, create a small light. keep moving keep moving keep moving. window ahead. break it? open it? is he strong enough? lift the window up. too weak. voices coming. hurry hurry hurry must get out now. whisper spell again, hand on window. break the glass and jump through it. cuts on feet cuts on legs deal with that later. voices getting louder voices shouting. run run RUN. 

the boy runs away from the building, away from his room. freedom is so close. first get to the trees, then… he hasn’t thought that far, but he will find a way. gunshots from the house. he runs faster, must get to the trees, must hide, must be free. cur memini, he whispers again, crossing into the forest. his spell can make lights and now break windows, but he needs it to protect him at this moment. run run run until the voices are quiet again. his legs are giving out, but he needs to run. he can’t die now or they’ll find him. keep running. bare feet on sticks and stones and sharp things, everything hurts but he can’t stop. he keeps running until the sun comes up. his heart beats out of his chest. 

--- 

when he wakes up he doesn’t know how much time has passed. his heart beats fast and he sits up. did they find him? he looks around. trees, rocks, a gurgling stream. he’s free. he’s free. he sighs and lays back down. how far did he run? he needs to go further. away from other people, away from anyone who might lock him up again. he sits up again and forces himself to stand and walk towards the sound of the stream. he can start there. water is important, and he might be able to get food from the little stream too. 

his first drink of the stream water is icy cold, quenching his lifelong thirst in just a few swallows. he washes his face with it, removing years of sweat and grime. he wants to sit by the stream forever if only he could, but the people will find him eventually if he doesn’t keep moving. but he allows himself a few minutes to bathe in the water, savoring the feeling of water on his skin. his stomach still growls, wanting something more filling than the freezing water of the stream, but that would have to wait. he needs to get his bearings. 

the light of the outside world is almost blinding, he realizes. the sun and the snow made it almost impossible to see anything. he should get up above the trees. can he even do that? cur memini, he says, trying to get his voice to be louder than a whisper. his feet float a few inches above the ground. he closes his eyes and says his spell again with more conviction. Cur Memini. he feels himself shooting into the air before he opens his eyes. he can see the forest stretch out for miles around him. trees covered in snow in every direction. if the old house is behind him, he should fly straight ahead, towards the forests on the mountains. tentatively, he leans forward and focuses his magic on keeping himself afloat. 

it doesn’t take much to exhaust what little magic he has, but he’s put more distance between himself and the old house and the people above now. he should be safe to rest, truly rest. but first he should find something to eat. is there anything to eat out here? something in his head tells him to look a little closer to the ground. to his left. there’s a bush full of berries. he’s never had anything but stale bread, and doesn’t know what to expect as he crushes one with his teeth. 

the sensation overtakes him for a brief moment. the berry is sweet, yet tart, and delicious. it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and he thanks the little voice in his head for the information as he picks several more berries from the bush. the juice runs down his chin and makes him sticky, but it feels good. he feels truly alive for the first time. 

once he’s finished picking the bush clean of its fruits, he needs to find a place to rest, to stay warm. he’s shivering in the intense cold of the north, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. the room was never very warm after all. he listens to the little voices calling out to him, guiding him towards a small cave, instructing him on how to make a small fire to warm himself up. a small rabbit brushes against his leg and he swears one of the voices is coming from it. and with the fire going, he thanks the rabbit before it hops away back into the snow. he would be roasting that same rabbit over the fire a few months later. 

the boy can’t stay in the cave forever though. as days turn to weeks turn to months, he worries that the people above are getting closer to him. they’ll put him back in that cold, dark, damp room again. he needs to keep moving. he has been practicing his magic, casting stronger spells, and he needs to be ready to fly. it's been long enough. cur memini he says holding his hand out. a rough stick with twigs tied to the end flies into his hand. it’s a poor excuse for what he understands is a broom, but it will work. he climbs onto it and focuses. cur memini cur memini cur memini. he lifts off the ground and watches as the branches of the trees get shorter and eventually he passes above the treetops. 

he takes a moment to gather his bearings. he no longer remembers the direction the house was in, but going up is his best bet of staying away from the people above. he laughs, realizing that he is the one above them now. after a moment, he flies into the mountains. the small voices change into bigger, unfamiliar ones as he gets further into the mountain range. they tell him to hide, to stay away. he doesn’t listen. they cannot be more dangerous than the humans he is running from. 

the boy lands, still exhausted from using so much magic, but he was able to travel further this time. that has to count for something, surely. he gathers some sticks and looks for another cave to make his home in. the caves remind him too much of the room he left, so he chooses to stay close to the entrance, close to the light that reminds him he is free. the fire keeps the animals away, but the voices are curious about the new presence in their woods. they make him curious too. he should stay in the cave tonight though and regain his energy. maybe he can get some small game to fill his stomach before settling in for the night. he listens for a rabbit’s voice, or maybe a squirrel, anything that would be small enough to kill with his hands. 

at last, a small fox’s voice is heard nearby. he wonders if fox will taste different from the other game he’s eaten thus far. he lifts a hand-sized rock and slinks out of the cave towards the voice. it takes a few minutes to find the source, but the fox is curled under a tree, shivering, hungry, just like him. the boy hesitates before bludgeoning it and slinging the corpse over his shoulders. there are more foxes. he is much more important. 

the fox is only the first animal he hunts in those mountainous woods. he spends several years in that forest and eventually humans settle up there as well. the boy, or rather, the man now, has made a name for himself amongst the human populations of the north. he is no longer afraid of humans capturing him and locking him up. they are still terrified of him, but now he is in control of that terror. the hunters that left his territory alive whispered tales of the great wizard owen who inhabited the mountains and terrorized anyone who had the bad luck of running into him. 

all of this is perfectly fine with owen. eventually his reputation will grow beyond himself, encapsulating atrocities that were impossible for even someone as strong as oz to commit, but that would be a problem for future owen. for now, he is still young and living in his cave on the outskirts of a small village and scaring hunters who stray too far from their boundaries. the wolves don’t like these visitors either and gladly listen to owen’s lamentations. it keeps his hands clean of the bloodshed if he isn’t casting the spell himself. the wolves don’t care for owen either, but they respect him. and that is enough for owen. 

the first of the unwanted visitors was a young man, someone who wanted to provide for his family. he pleaded with owen and the wolves to let him go and he wouldn’t cause any problems. those pleas fell on deaf ears though as owen looked the man in the eyes. won’t your family be disappointed, he asked almost innocently, you don’t have anything to show for your efforts. the man stammered a response, they’d rather i come back alive with nothing than die trying to find food. is that so, owen reached out for the man’s chin, the distance between their faces was almost nothing. y-yes, sir, please just let me go and i won’t bother you anymore. owen grinned. oh i’m sure you won’t be causing us any trouble again. the wolves stalked out of the woods, drooling at the prospect of tearing a piece of that man for themselves. owen snapped his fingers, and they came running forward, only to stop mere inches from the now trembling man. there was a suspicious yellow stain in the snow beneath him. p-p-please sir, anything you ask, it’s yours! then make sure you tell the rest of your little village that this forest belongs to the great wizard owen. the man ran off, leaving behind a hunting rifle and a ratty sack. the rifle would be of use, but the sack became tinder for his fires. 

despite the warning from that first man, hunters continued to enter into owen’s territory. and one after the other, they ran off screaming with their tails between their legs. this should have annoyed owen, that people would ignore all of the warnings and stories that had started popping up about him, but it doesn’t. their fear feeds into his magic power, only making him stronger, and that is all fine with owen. he is no longer a weak child locked in the damp, dark basement, and he never will be again. 

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i had a dream that would’ve been SUCH a good fic idea—it played out in my mind like a movie, almost every detail—but i don’t have the skill set to write ittttt

[deus-ex-mona]

has chizuutan been sitting this close to aizo in class all this time…?

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[suckinitup]

oh!!!! fic titles for you: the body is a blade OR bad luck charm. (both from the nhw playlist. fwiw <3)

Strider used to call him his bad luck charm.

It was more of a family joke than anything else. Vyncent had sat on Strider's lap once when he'd lost a game of blackjack against Min, but the joke had only really taken off when Min, who had welcomed Vyncent after Strider's lighthearded banishment, had lost three games in a row. They kept playing and she won overall, but—Vyncent had been so delighted by it. Just being near someone, tipping luck's hand just with his presence. It made him feel special, like he had a great power just as impressive as the Greats'. His dad didn't like it when he played pretend with powers, would take toy wands from his hand and make some stupid, dramatic exclamation and suddenly his pretend wand was a pretend sword. Vyncent didn't mind so much, because then his dad would play with him and chase him around the house and they would kill dragons and. Bullshit.

The point was that his dad sucked, and Vyncent had latched on to the idea of a power that was luck instead of magic. A fun, fake, special thing that was all his. It was a fun game to bounce between everyone on game night when he was too young to participate, magnanimously choosing a loser with his great, childish wisdom. They'd even played along sometimes. Not all the time, but...

There was one time, one game that was all about aim. Ram was taking the whole pot, smoking like a racehorse and grinning easy. Greyson had taken Vyncent aside and loudly put on a whole bit for him—begging, telling Vyncent that he was their last hope, that he had to save them from the tyrant Ram and it was all up to him. Vyncent had taken to it like a shooting star, and Ram, fucking Ram, threw every single round afterwards.

Vividly, Vyncent can remember one night his mom was on a winning streak. He can't even remember the fucking game, but he remembers she was taunting the others. She'd said something to Alphonz that Vyncent had thought was just this side of too mean, and they'd all laughed when he gravely settled in at her side. His mother had laughed, too, held him and kissed his head and used the opportunity to sweep him away to bed.

His hand hurts, and his heart hurts. Next to him, William is trembling. Vyncent knows that it isn't—it was a fucking kid's game, his bad luck gift, but it's sticking in his head now. Something backwards to it, the way things got worse when Vyncent left. The way his presence didn't make things better, but there's flecks of blood on William's hands that weren't there before and he knows his absence just made it all so much worse.

William told him that he wasn't going to kill David. William didn't kill David. He did some freaky curse nonsense instead, but Vyncent had been present to see him do that and he really doesn't know how bad it might have gotten if he hadn't been. He's glad he punched David when he did. He wishes he'd done worse. He's glad he didn't.

William is still trembling.

Vyncent hears the Winnebago in the distance. He closes his eyes and breathes. Dakota won't be happy. He just prays that they'll be lucky enough for him to stay.

---

HI ROS HI HI HI!!!! sorry it took a minute yesterday was. So fucking busy ! Nhw Playlist songs....... 👀👀👀 okay but the fic thing I won't get distracted here this fic—yeah vyncent having a good fucking time. I think most of what I'd want to explore got touched on here. The idea of things being Worse when vyncent is gone (and in a longe fic it'd touch on his whole world going to shit) and it'd touch on his passive stuff and some overthinking of maybe he's bad luck overall?? but greyscale just. Cementing to him that he IS a vital part of the team, at least emotionally. It'd probably be more exploring how I want to characterize vyncent than an actual Study of him because i struggle w him

[raptorrobot]

hhi guys the next violent sun chapter is taking longer than usual because i've gotta do not one, not two, but THREE full artworks for it

[alittlelessalone]

My commission by the incredible https://instagram.com/liramic?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== is done! Look at my girls! I love them so much!!!

They’re OCs from a Scum Villain fic that I’m writing (and will begin posting in the nearish future). The one on the left is Lin Ai and the one on the right is Ren Lijuan. I’m so excited for this fic and for people to get to meet my OCs. I hope that people love them even a fraction of how much I do!

[questinwitchface]

I am going to finish Sam's birthday fic this year. I started it back in 2022, and I've failed to finish it for two years in a row, but this is the year that will be different. I am going to finish Sam's birthday fic this year.